


Nobody Knows My Heart Like You

by AuthorA97



Series: Nolan Verse [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorA97/pseuds/AuthorA97
Summary: She's unassuming Danielle Nolan. He's the always extraordinary Sherlock Holmes. She's a 27 year old landlady. He's a 27 year old consulting detective. They're so different. Right? Wrong. Cause Danielle Nolan is a big barrel of contradictions. Sherlock is determined to figure this (definitely insane) woman's every detail! (I own nothing but the Nolan family)





	1. There's An East Wind Coming

The East Wind.

A force of unimaginable power. It is said to be a terrifying force, laying waste to all in it's path. It cared not for walls of stone or clay, if you were the target then you were as good as gone.

It sought out the unworthy. Some believed it was those with free in their hearts, or envy. Those who gifted harm towards their fellow man. Very few had been spared from it's unrelenting force, even fewer kept safe on the cusps of it. Anyone deemed unworthy were plucked from the face of Earth.

You would think that people would feel it coming. The soft tingle in the air, just enough to make your hair stand on end. You would think they could feel a change in the air. That was in the nature of the Wind, coming forth only when it saw fit.

That didn't mean people were standing idle. Far from it. In the shadows, there were dark forces moving about so as to hide from the Wind. They thought themselves clever. They believed they were stronger than the coming Wind.

They were to be proven wrong. For when it concerned him, the Wind knew no mercy

The rest of London could not be so guarded. They were to remain blissfully ignorant of the rise of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson of 221b Baker Street.

Well, except for one.

Danielle Nolan. The landlady of 22 _3_  Baker Street, the flats right next door.


	2. The New Neighbor

There were a lot of things you could say about Mrs Hudson.

There were a lot less you could  _never_ say without facing death or bodily harm.

Mrs Hudson was a wonderful woman. She would sometimes go off on long tangents, letting you know all these bizarre facts about her. Danielle still had trouble believing the story about Mrs Hudson's cat being evidence in her husband's arrest. It was something about it's fur having drugs on it.

Mrs Hudson _had_ a husband. He was in jail in Florida, for a drug ring. Mrs Hudson was alright with it, having apparently asked a strange man for help with it. She came back from the States emotional hurt, but not letting the incidents get her down. Danielle always saw the woman smiling, the picture of a loving grand mother (though the woman had no children of her own)

The favor to the strange man was supposedly being repaid, as that young man was set to move in by next month (which was really in a week, but Danielle liked the way ' _next month'_ sounded)

Danielle had frequent talks with Mrs Hudson. She was so nice to Danielle, helping her out after she'd moved in. Danielle had needed Mrs Hudson's guiding hand.

She checked herself one more time. She quite liked her hair, long locks of strawberry blonde. She let them hang loose past her shoulders. It was a cold winter's day so she wore a pair of long jeans with a thin pale blue belt, and a long sleeve purple/white floral patterned shirt. She had some blue grey sandals too, that she thought went good with her sapphire blue eyes. She hated heels, as she always fell on her face when wearing them. Besides, at 5'7 she saw there was no real need for the death traps.

Satisfied with her appearance, Danielle began the short walk next door.

She was momentarily surprised to see a moving truck outside the flats. Had she forgotten the date again? A quick glance at her phone told her that, yes, she had forgotten the date that the mystery man was moving in. He was moving in next month, but he was moving his belongings in on the twenty-ninth.  _Today_.

Danielle slapped her hand against her face.  _"Stupid!_ This happens every time.  _Every time!"_

The young woman quickly turned back into her flats. She had something planned for the new neighbor. Where did she put it? It was somewhere she knew she could find it.

The fridge!

The strawberry blonde rushed to the fridge, finding a box of pre-made biscuits for the oven. As she set it to preheat, she silently scolding herself for forgetting things again. Her mother had always said she needed to get over that.

==NKMHLY==

Some twenty minutes later, Danielle was walking out of her flat with a plate of small biscuits for the new neighbor.

She played it cool, putting on an easy smile to hopefully trick people into thinking she had planned this. Danielle could still feel her cheeks going pink, betraying her pseudo confidence.

Danielle balanced the plate in one hand, trying to use her spare key to Mrs Hudson's. It was only after she pulled her out her keychain (which only had five keys and cute Pop vinyls of Harry Potter and Ariel) that Danielle thought about why Mrs Hudson would lock her door when the new tenant was moving in.

She gently pushed open the door. She had been over enough for Mrs Hudson to say that 221 was open to her.

Mrs Hudson was immediately seen. She was in her flat, having a cuppa.

"Hello Mrs Hudson!" Danielle cheered, balancing the heavy plate of biscuits.

"Oh, Danielle!" Mrs Hudson chirped in delight.

The two had quick embrace, careful of the glass plate in Danielle's hands. When the hug ended, the older woman saw how bright pink Danielle's cheeks were. It was easy to tell with her pale skin.

"I don't know why you forget your coat." Mrs Hudson scolded matronly. "This cold is making my hip go all batty."

Danielle let out a small giggle. "Sorry, I'm a snowman. Well, snow  _woman_ , really, which just sounds weird. Snow lady maybe?" She shrugged, keeping a steady hold of the welcoming gift. She looked at the friendly woman with a meaningful expression. "This answer has eluded me for twenty years."

"I thought you were twenty-seven?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Yes, but I started this when I was seven." Danielle replied simply. "Ah, those were simple times."

This was another reason she liked Mrs Hudson. The older woman never thought less of Danielle for her odd quirks. Mrs Hudson always looked at her in understanding, sometimes even laughed with her. Danielle had appreciated it. She never had much of that.

"Never got his name, I remembered that much. All the people I talked to think he's some mystery man!" Danielle admitted.

She was telling the truth, or at least a half. Danielle did not like using the rumor mill for one short simple reason: it meant being  _friendly_  with the  _neighbors._  Danielle already knew the others of Baker Street had a low opinion of her. If not for her age, then her eccentric personality. Call her anti-social, she didn't care. She just hated putting up with all their small talk rubbish.

That's why she wanted to see the new neighbor first. So that maybe (just maybe) someone else would treat her as Mrs Hudson did.

"I haven't told you? Oh silly me. It's Sherlock Holmes." The older woman sighed, shaking her head. "He's a bit odd, though. Reminds me a bit of you, when he's a bit excited. He's moving all his things in today."

"That makes him odd?"

"No, not at all. Sherlock's a blessing. It's just." Mrs Hudson shuddered. "I saw  _dead frogs_  in a jar."

Danielle had to admit, that was a bit peculiar. Not enough for her to be concerned. Her younger brother, Felix, had collected frogs until he was thirteen. Yeah, he didn't keep them, after they died, but he was always sad when one died.

"Does he collect them?" She found herself asking. "They could be old pets."

"No, says it's his experiments." Mrs Hudson answered, taking a biscuit. "Says he's something called a  _consulting detective._  That's Sherlock all around. I told you that he had Frank arrested."

The older landlady was smiling now, as she snacked on the biscuit.

"Yes." Danielle glanced at the stairs. "So...is it alright if I take these up?"

"Oh yes Danielle! And don't mind him if he sends you back. He gets prickly with people he doesn't like." Mrs Hudson encouraged. "You'd be his first visitor!"

Danielle was oddly pleased with that.

==NKMHLY==

"Hello?" Danielle called out. "Mrs Hudson said it was alright to come up."

She walked into to one of the oddest flats ever. Sherlock had only moved in today, but the things were scattered about in a way that implied it'd been loved in for months. There wasn't dust on anything, and the furniture all seemed mostly new.

Yet as she looked, Danielle could see a sort of order to it. The desk had space enough for a laptop, though already it was surrounded by various journals and encyclopedias. Someone liked to research with books, in case the internet was less than helpful.

The bookshelves had been a little random, but he had subconsciously put things by order of importance. A lot of them were worn, Danielle knew those creases in books. Sherlock preferred science to pretty much anything really.

She was thankful to her cooling biscuits, or else she'd smell the dead frogs in what Danielle thought was pickle juice.

"Yes? What do you want?" A man suddenly asked from the kitchen. Danielle flinched at the surprise. She turned round to see a man standing there. He had an annoyed expression on his face, probably because Danielle had just walked right into his flat.

He had short black hair, done in a million little curls. His eyes were a bright entrancing blue, that made Danielle think this Sherlock bloke was looking right into her soul (and not liking what he saw). His skin was pale, even more so with his dark Belstaff coat, black suit, and white button up. She thought his chin was a bit pointy, going well with his sharp cheekbones. He was a few inches taller than her. The strawberry blonde would've thought he was a vampire.

"Sorry. I'm Danielle Nolan, from 223. Came by with a welcoming present." Danielle admitted. She held up the plate of biscuits. The way Sherlock stared at the plate made Danielle think of a lord being unsatisfied by his serfs pitiful sacrifice. "Welcome to Baker Street."  _'Baker Street! Cause I got biscuits, which I had to BAKE. Get it?! Nice job, Danielle Nolan, you're a genius.'_

Sherlock didn't get the joke. Or maybe he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of a horrible joke. Danielle was holding back laughter anyway. She put the plate down on a nearby table. She had been holding her keychain, so she stuffed it back into her jean pocket.

"Neighbors don't really know much about each other, not at first anyway." Danielle caught sight of the skull on the mantlepiece. How had Mrs Hudson missed  _that_? "Really hope that wasn't your flatmate."

What happened next still surprised Danielle whenever she looked back. The light blue eyes scanned her once, even the plate. He had apparently had enough of her. Sherlock Holmes was going to use the science of deduction to cast the strawberry blonde away.

"You have two pets; a cat and a dog. It's black cat that prefers to be held, and you do so despite her claws. The dog, puppy more likely, is a yellow labrador and a gift from your estranged sister. She wants you to start dating, but you stubbornly refuse. But you can't completely ignore them, you were raised family before all else. You dislike your mother, close relationship with your father. Your mother didn't approve. She doesn't favor you. Could be for anything, really, but most likely because you're much too absent minded to hold a steady job for long. Being a landlady was your mother's idea, not your's. You're the eldest of, probably four children. You're still working this job, probably to spite your mother. You'd go to your father for help, but he's been dead four-no five-years."

He said this all so fast Danielle wondered if it was all in one breath. He hadn't glanced away but for a few times, though the strawberry blonde felt she never had anything but his full attention.

Danielle stared at him. "Wow..." She blinked in surprise. She knew she should be insulted by what he was saying (especially that absent minded comment) "Mrs Hudson can't have told you all that."

"She didn't. I observed it." The man stated, in a voice Danielle would call flippant.

She smiled, almost nervously. "Ah. Yes. Obviously."

The  _consulting detective_  intrigued her. Few people spoke of her quirks like this, in a way that was just stating facts rather than accusations. At the same time, Danielle felt Sherlock was perfectly in the right to say what he had. She  _had_ been rather rude, just walking into his new flat without his permission. She went to grab a biscuit, anything to help her think straight again.

"Can everyone  _observe_  things, or is that just...your thing?" She asked.

Sherlock thought she was a bit strange now. He did this to his old landlord before driving off. The old man had run off screaming at his old tenant. He had known she wasn't a client, none of them knew his new address yet. She had brought  _treats_ , which was a waste because Sherlock knew he'd never eat them. So Sherlock ranted off facts to get the stranger to leave. By now, the odd Miss Nolan should have slapped him silly. Why had this woman done nothing? She was only intrigued by it, and him by association.

"Very few people have the mental capacity." Sherlock replied slowly, carefully. "I doubt you could." He blatantly insulted. He did  _not_  want this insane landlady in here.

She didn't seem phased. Was she always this maddening? "I can't do that, no. Even if I could, I doubt I'd ever be as good at it as you are."

She  _laughed_. Sherlock had insulted her, and she  _laughed_! While not the first, it was the first time it wasn't done maliciously.

"You're laughing." Sherlock stated, starting to be intrigued. Most of the people that didn't hate him had forced adjustment, like Lestrade's rubbish police team.

"Why not? You're saying that stuff about me. If you can't laugh at yourself, then why laugh at all?" Danielle admitted, still smiling innocently. "Besides, I was rude. I should've asked before letting myself in. Mrs Hudson said it was fine, but I still should've asked you. It  _is_  your flat now."

Hold on. Why the bloody hell was  _she_  apologizing for what  _he_  said? Sherlock, for all his reasonings, couldn't tell if Miss Nolan was truly polite or stupid. When he said rude things, everyone rolled their eyes and groaned, before telling him to pull back.

"You were wrong about my mum, though." Miss Nolan decided to add. "She helped get me this job, I'll give ya that, but because I told her I wanted it."

She liked the idea of being a landlady for a long time. She'd chose who could stay at her flats. It saved on funds to not take a bus or cab to work every day. Sure, Danielle didn't like the rumors or the small talk, but it was all worth it to have a place she could call  _home_. That she got to choose who was inside her  _home_.

Sherlock Holmes maintained a cool face as he stared at her. This woman wasn't making sense. Why would she want to be a landlady at twenty-seven? Usually landladies were seen as old, or overly stern. Mrs Hudson was a welcome difference. Danielle Nolan was a mystery now.

"I should go. I came to introduce myself and give you the biscuits." Danielle explained, smiling wider than she had when she walked in. Mrs Hudson would give her the plate when Sherlock was done with it. "So I won't take up anymore of your time."

Sherlock stared at her as she walked off. He was happy to see her off, yet at the same time a part of him acknowledged that she was the first person to come into any of his flats without running away scared or furious with him. Seems he was making improvements.

"Good luck finding a flatmate, by the way!" She added as an afterthought.

"How did you know I'm even looking?" Sherlock asked. He himself didn't want one, only needing one for rent. The consulting detective knew he was an abrasive human (which he only said for lack of better option). Whatever unlucky soul that became his flatmate would need to have the patience of a saint. He'd told Mike that much this morning.

"You added the skull." Was Miss Nolan's last reply.

 


	3. 223 Baker Street

Danielle came back to her flats with a surprisingly light heart. She knew she should feel heavily insulted, hell anyone else in her position would have slapped Sherlock silly.

Yet he wasn't insulting her out of malice of distaste, the young landlady saw them as statements of fact. Mrs Hudson was a kind person, with an kinder heart. She wouldn't let just anyone live in her flats, just like Danielle wouldn't just anyone live in her's.

Sherlock was a curious one. Danielle wondered how he did it, how he looked at her and saw her past. What gave her secrets away? What was obvious, what was difficult?

Danielle had the entire afternoon to ponder on it.

==NKMHLY==

She walked back into her flat, staring at it in its entirety as if for the first time.

It was a small ground level flat. There were dark purple walls, hardwood floors, and dark wood furniture. She had some photos on the wall. Some weird artsy things, like favorite book quotes or black and white pictures of lakes.

Danielle Nolan had  _fought_  for this flat. She'd worked for years, saving up enough to buy the house. She didn't accept much help from her father and siblings, mostly because they hadn't known she was house searching.

It'd been nothing short of a miracle getting a flat in central London. Her family barely believed it when she came out to them. There had been a big party (Danielle still thinks there was a dent in her ceiling from a wine cork) that her whole family came to.

A year and a half later, their father died.

Her pets demanded her attention, knocking her out of the stupor of her father's passing. Her puppy ran up to Danielle, happy that she returned after a short time. She reached down to brush her puppy's fur.

Little Erika was labrador mutt, the little white patches of fur probably meant it was part a beagle. Danielle never checked in the fourteen months. Erika was certainly an energetic puppy (though she  _was_ getting rather big these days).

Nightwing was hiding around her couch. He was a bit of a drama queen. Danielle had found him on the streets in one of those boxes you see, with little abandoned kittens inside. Danielle had liked the black kitten, and the cat felt similar (hopefully).

Erika had been a present from Lilly, her baby sister at nine years her junior. Lilly was, in Danielle's words, the daughter their mother always wanted. Lilly had a twin brother, Felix, who was closer to Danielle. This made a bit of a rift between the siblings. Her puppy was a gift after they came to an odd sort of truce.

The reformed bond between the sisters made Danielle smile fondly. It turned curious when she remembered that Sherlock knew that.

Danielle went over to her small kitchen. She hadn't properly cleaned up from baking the biscuits. She got to cleaning the dishes, while making Erika and Nightwing lunch.

As she poured their lunches into their feeding bowls, Danielle paused. The bowl we're both plastic, both white, both with blue painted on names for each pet. She knew they both had matching blue collars. She loved her pets, like Sherlock had said, which was why Danielle had scratched both of them before running over to 221.

She had hugged her dog, which probably got fur all over her pants. Nightwing had been more of a cuddle on her shirt. Probably hard to notice against the dark purple.

Danielle felt a bit proud she had figured that out. Less so when the two animals ran into her legs for their lunches.

She didn't feel very hungry. To be honest, all Danielle felt she could eat was a bag of crisps. There was something interesting going on next door, separated from her only by walls and the Speedy's cafe.

The man who had no flatmate. The man that stared at her and didn't judge her on her job. The man who kept a skull on his mantle. The man who was annoyed with her, yet Danielle had the oddest feeling he was  _pleased_.

She wandered into her bedroom. Danielle stared at the brightest bit of her room; a queen sized bed with soft blue sheets and a bright pink blanket (her mother's suggestion). Danielle added her own flair, as if to defy her mother, by moving a stuffed dragon to it. It was juvenile, and she should have given it to charity, but it was from her father. Besides, the dragon was to her what that skull was to Sherlock.

There was a writer's desk, decorated with her work files, some of her favorite Pop Vinyls, and a green laptop. There was also a wardrobe from her grandmother.

Danielle huffed. She partially wondered what Sherlock would say if he saw her place. Would he see how deep the hatred between her and her mother was? Just how far did his observations go?

How did he see all of that? What was so obvious about her life?

"Am I really that easy to read?" Danielle asked the dragon.

It stared back blankly.

Danielle nodded, as if it had responded. Her lips turned into a thoughtful line, eyebrows "I am, yeah." She paused, glancing around her room again. "What am I even doing? He's just a bloke. Lots of blokes have stared at me. It's not going to change anything."

An hour later, Danielle's fate changed.

==NKMHLY==

She had a tenant in 223c. She hadn't found anyone for 223b, but she was hopeful.

The tenant was a lovely woman, honest. She just got into fights with her flavors of the week. Danielle knew it spooked Erika, so she opted to take Erika out on walks when the fights started.

Danielle was only just coming back from that walk when Sherlock stormed out of 221.

She was barely acknowledging this fact before he was walking up beside her, taking the leash out of her hand.

"Oi!" She yelped. "I was using that-"

The man didn't care. He noticed, and he didn't care. "Take it inside. It's going to get in the way." Sherlock ordered.

Danielle stared at him in confusion. "Erika? What would  _she_  get in the way of?"

"The medical equipment." Sherlock explained. Erika apparently did not  _like_  the strange man holding her leash. She started jerking away from him, trying to get back to her owner. "Molly is very typical about me ruining her lab again. Doubt she'd like a dog running."

"Molly? Lab?" Danielle was more worried about why Sherlock was still holding Erika's leash. "What the hell are you talking about? And let go of her leash, Sherlock! You're hurting her!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He tossed the leash aside. Danielle quickly picked it back up, reaching down to reassure her puppy. " _There_. I was only getting your attention." He eyed the dog like it was a giant rat. "Either way, you still need to put her away. We'll miss the cab."

"Why should I?" Danielle asked, placing her hand over Erika's head. She scratched the labrador's head to calm her down. The dog loved the attention. "You just grabbed my dog in broad daylight. Tell me why I should listen to you!"

Sherlock stared at her, brows creased in confusion and lips turned down. A signature look of  _'can't you keep up with my excellent mind?'_  "I knew all the details of your life that you thought private. You came to my flat first, you knew you did. No one else in the street could've told, least of all Mrs Hudson. You were relieved, because I wasn't accusing you yes? You want to know how I did it."

"It was just a magic trick." Even as Danielle said that, she knew it was a lie. He knew that. "No it wasn't." She sighed, still rubbing Erika's head.

Just as he was still grinning smugly. "Danielle Nolan. Take the dog inside, then get in the cab." He offered in a way that also sounded like an order. "And I'll tell you how I did it."

She hesitated. Of course she did, a virtual stranger wanted to drag her across town in a cab. What sane person got into a cab with a stranger? There was just this  _curiosity_ , of  _how_  he did it, of  _how_ he picked her life apart.

"Why are you offering?" She felt she had to ask.

"Because you noticed my skull." He admitted.

Now, passers by would think that was the oddest string of words. That they didn't explain  _at all_  what the strawberry blonde had asked. Danielle had always been good at reading between the lines, though.

She smiled happily at him. "That's a deal then, Sherlock."

Five minutes later, when Erika was safely inside 223 and under the assurance they would be back before any real amount of time passed, Danielle was climbing in the backseat of a cab.

"What's the lab we're going to? You never said." She commented. She brushed back some of her hair, leaning back to enjoy the ride.

"Mortuary. Molly had a fresh corpse for testing." The consulting detective was staring down at his phone. It was as if Danielle wasn't really in the cab. "And Stamford thinks he's found me flatmate. I doubt it, I'm a rubbish flatmate."

"I saw what you did to the last one." Danielle teased. "God help him."

Sherlock quirked a smile.

_...and so the East Wind began..._

 


	4. The Mane with the Cane

The drive to St. Bart's Hospital was a short one in Danielle's opinion. It didn't give her a lot of time to think about why they were here.

Danielle was usually anxious when taken someplace new and unknown. She thinks it's because her mum would drive her around and Danielle would be forced to go dress shopping or stupid play dates with boring girls at school. (Plus the traumatic experience of her mother's less than sane drive to Danielle's surprise sweet sixteen. She thought her mother had finally snapped)

The mini-phobia broke when she got her own license and started taking taxis. The idea of her driving herself felt nice for that confidence (and never getting into a car her mother was driving).

So it helped her anxiety to know that she and Sherlock Holmes were inside Bart's Hospital to see a corpse, a new possible flat mate, and a woman named  _Molly_.

_Molly._

_Molly and a flatmate_.

The young landlady made sure to follow Sherlock. She'd not been to Bart's before, and she didn't want to get lost. Danielle had no idea where  _Molly_  or  _the new flatmate_  were yet. She barely knew why she had come along.

They were approaching a door marked  _Authorized Personnel Only_. Danielle hesitated, unsure if this was really allowed. Shouldn't they be waiting for someone to let them in?

"Just walk like you own the place." Sherlock advised, though barely. It was almost like he had forgotten she was there.

Danielle bit her lip. "I don't even own a car!"

The tall man glowered at her. "Alright. Just stay behind me, you're slowing us down."

Danielle wasn't given a chance to argue or glare. Her neighbor strutted off beyond the door, telling her to either follow or be left behind. Danielle followed.

(Though she did glance at the security cameras as she walked. )

When they walked into the mortuary, Danielle feeling the cold through her purple shirt, she was surprised at the woman standing there.

Danielle didn't let herself think much about Molly. Another fun fact was that she had an active imagination. Most of the time it was fine for a good laugh, other times it was less okay.

Ever since Danielle first heard about  _Molly_ , her imagination was went wild with ideas. Molly, drop dead (pun unintended) gorgeous woman with blonde hair and diamonds for teeth. Molly, crotchety old lady with a scowl and yellow teeth.

She knew both of them were ridiculous, but she couldn't stop it. It's like when you tell yourself not to think of something, so it's all you think about.

Danielle felt relieved to see a somewhat mousy brunette, with big brown eyes and a sweet smile. She always liked it when the world surprised her.

 _Molly_  seemed quite nice. Her brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, showing off her pale cheeks and a cute button nose. She had on a lovely outfit, more fitting to London weather. It was a bit weird though for her to dress so nicely for a job this disgusting. But the that must be what the lab coat was for, keeping off the stains.

Did Danielle forget to mention the bodybag?

"Oh!" The young woman yelped. "Hello." She flashed her attention to the tall pale man. "Ah, who's that?"

"Danielle Nolan." She introduced, with a peppy smile. Danielle "Good to meet you."

Molly did not seem as eager to make a new friend as Danielle. She took Danielle's hand, giving it a nervous shake. Why a 30 year old woman was awkward shaking a 27 year old woman's hand, we can guess.

The man did not care for their little meeting. Why would he? There was  _work_  to be done.

He unzipped the body bag. He began to take in the details of the body inside. Sherlock had been waiting for weeks for this chance. It was so much easier to run these kinds of tests when they died naturally.

As per usual, Molly didn't disappoint.

Danielle though. She was turning out to be an odd one. She hadn't asked why he was here, or why he was examining the body.

Sherlock sniffed the body. "How fresh?" He asked sternly.

The question brought Molly back into the  _proper_ mindset. Honestly, he couldn't understand why women were always so social. "Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes." She smiled. It was such a sweet smile. So sweet Danielle wondered how she could've imagined  _Molly_  as a cross old woman. "He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice."

Sherlock nodded, content with that assessment. He zipped up the bag, turning to the two humans in the room.

"Fine. We'll start with the riding crop."

==NKMHLY==

As horrible as it was, Danielle found herself  _entranced_.

The loud crack of leather against the recently deceased man. The rapid fire of the blows. That knowledge that the man would never scream in pain again. There had been the surprisingly easy method of pulling him out of the body bag, onto a slab.

Danielle briefly thought that there was so much  _wrong_  with this situation. A man whipping a dead body with a riding crop, it's not the sort of thing that just  _happens_.

After the dearly departed man was laid on the table, Sherlock had ordered the both leave. Molly must be used to it, as she strolled right out like it was time for her lunch break. Danielle was slower, if only caused she was staring at Sherlock holding a riding crop over a dead body.

Molly walked Danielle into the observation room. For the past few minutes, they could only watch as Sherlock commenced his experiment.

"So...who are you?" Molly asked, trying to sound polite. She knew she had no right to be jealous. It's not like she and Sherlock were anything. "How do you know Sherlock?"

It helped break Danielle out of the odd thoughts. She glanced at Molly, suddenly remembering she hadn't been alone in here. "No one, really. Just his neighbor. He brought me here."

"That was...nice of him." Molly commented. She shouldn't make this weird. Sherlock had only brought a woman here. He was  _allowed_  friends...did he even have those?

"He said it was because I saw the skull." Danielle added, staring at the consulting detective at work. She glanced at Molly as her pale cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "He did this  _thing_. He knew all these little things about me. He promised to tell me how he did it if I came here with him."

Molly laughed fondly. She remembered when Sherlock first did that. It was the first time she let him into the mortuary some four years ago. The mortician thought Sherlock was being a prat  _(albeit a cute prat. But didn't they all?)._

"And you just...followed him?" Molly asked, trying to stay polite and keep the conversation friendly. She ended up sounding a bit skeptical.

Which made Danielle's cheeks go a bit brighter pink.

"If he came to me because of the skull, I came to him because of the answers." Danielle explained simply. It made perfect sense in her mind.

Danielle paused. She turned her attention back to the odd scene in the other room. She didn't even notice Molly quickly put on lipstick.

By the time she would've, both women were walking back inside. Sherlock had stopped the proceedings, even putting the riding crop aside for a notepad.

Molly spoke first. "So, bad day, was it?"

"He moved his things in today." Danielle answered. She heard what Molly had said, just didn't understand that it was a joke. "Not so bad, really. I mean...I don't think so."

Once again, Sherlock paid them no mind. His focus was on  _science!_ "I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

Danielle at least understood the why, and the urgency. A man was apparently going to go to jail if they...didn't whip a dead body? She'd ask on the way to this  _flatmate_.

The mortician took a chance. If Danielle wasn't a date or girlfriend (Sherlock  _would_  think going to the morgue would be a nice date) then Molly had a  _chance._ She came up closer, enough so that Danielle couldn't hear the private conversation. "Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later, when you're finished-"

"Are you wearing lipstick?" Sherlock asked, doing a double take when he realized it. "You weren't wearing lipstick before."

"Oh! And it's gorgeous!" Danielle chirped. She always had trouble with lipstick. It was never the right shade for her.

Just like that, Molly lost her confidence. The presence of the other woman, with her bright clear blue eyes and a smile that made her feel like an old friend, was making Molly wonder why she bothered.

Sherlock had at least noticed her lipstick, and hadn't criticized it. He criticized her last haircut, saying the short hair made her head look rounder. "I, er, I refreshed it a bit." Molly admitted, a displaced frown on her face.

Sherlock accepted the obvious lie. She  _hadn't_  been wearing lipstick. Clearly she was subconsciously competing with the young landlady. Why were women always competing?

Well, Danielle wasn't. She was encouraging Molly's lipstick, instead of dismissing it. There were a multitude of reasons why. It was probably because Danielle wasn't wearing any so she felt she was already losing. No. That's not it. More likely that- _Sherlock she was asking you about something. Pay attention!_

"Sorry, you were saying?"

Molly swallowed the small lump in her throat. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."

Danielle held back a gasp.  _Oh_. Now things were making sense. Walking in with familiarity, Sherlock casually talking to Molly, Molly asking questions (she had been seeing if Danielle was competition!), the fresh lipstick, Sherlock's lost face when he saw the lipstick.

Molly fancied Sherlock. Sherlock fancied Molly!

_A distance voice in her mind, sounding an awful lot like her mother, told Danielle to stop being such a starry eyed fool. Romance isn't happening every time two people chat!_

...as usual the voice had a point. The eldest Nolan  _did_  let herself get swept up in these things.

"Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs." Sherlock began walking away from the put down mortician.

The redhead subjected herself to a world with one less couple. She was too much of a romantic.

"Danielle, with me."

"I'm not a dog, Sherlock." She commented before trailing behind him.

"...Okay." Molly sighed.

They had barely cleared the room before more questions came up to Danielle.

"What's the alibi got to do with flogging a dead man?" Danielle asked as soon as they cleared the mortuary door. It would be rude to ask about the Molly situation. Plus, he didn't look eager to go ' _get coffee'_  at all.

Sherlock continued walking, but answered. "I needed to see if the bruise pattern matches that of a recent victim."

"So, you consult with the police then?" Danielle asked.

Her face scrunching up as she imagined Sherlock Holmes surrounded by the police (in a good way, mind you).

It was the only time sne'd ever heard of people being called victims. He also called himself a  _consulting detective,_  or so Mrs Hudson had said.

He seemed to be amused by her comment. He didn't continue the conversation, only speaking moments later telling his neighbor they were going to see about this flatmate.

==NKMHLY==

Danielle was  _bored._

Sherlock had brought her here, with the intention of meeting a flatmate. Well, no, it was to examine some flakes from another crime scene. Danielle had tried to strike up a conversation, only to find that Sherlock was properly tuning her out.

This left her in a room with a lot of things she didn't know about waiting for a flatmate or for Sherlock to finish.

Though finish with what, Danielle's active imagination couldn't hope to guess.

She didn't like the silence in the room. There was always usually some noise. Her dog's claws on hardwood, the cat playing with a toy mouse, her neighbor stomping about 223b, her telly playing old reruns. Danielle liked having  _noise_ in the flat.

She was about to try again to fill the silence. He had to respond  _sometime_ , right? She was stopped when the door to the lab opened.

A man walked into the lab. He was a bit large, with short black hair and black rimmed glasses. He was dressed in brown suit, with a white plaid button up, and a ridiculous looking red and yellow striped tie.

A second man limped in behind the first. Danielle thought he looked nice. He had sorta ashen blond hair, cut shorter than the first man's. He wore a dark blue plaid button up, with a black jacket. He was using a cane. He wasn't leaning on it completely. Danielle thought he looked a bit like a hedgehog.

"Well, bit different from my day." The second man mused.

The first man grinned, like the second had made a joke. "You've no idea!" He laughed.

Danielle wondered which one was the new flatmate. Sherlock ignored their musings, choosing instead to go to the microscope. "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."

The first man, probably Mike, looked at Sherlock. "And what's wrong with the landline?"

Sherlock stayed in his position. "I prefer to text."

He shrugged. "Sorry. It's in my coat." Though by his tone, he wasn't sorry at all.

Danielle went to get her phone from inside her purse. "I can get mine-"

"Err. Here." The as of yet unnamed man held his phone out towards Sherlock. He was much faster than Danielle. That might be because he didn't have to search for it in a purse. "Use mine."

The consulting detective stared at him a moment. Danielle wanted to say Sherlock Holmes was  _surprised._ "Oh. Thank you." He rose up from the stool, reaching over to grab the phone.

"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike explained.

Danielle and Sherlock stared at this hedgehog of a man. The scientist didn't stare for long opening up the phone. Danielle had realized this must be  _the flatmate_  Sherlock was meeting. She wondered why Mike had been so bland with the greeting, now she knew nothing about John.

The young landlady thought it was the perfect time to introduce herself. She'd just been the quiet bystander up to this point. "Nice to meet you, John." Danielle greeted. She walked over towards him, holding out her hand. "I'm Danielle Nolan."

 _John_  smiled politely.

"What're you doing in here?" Mike asked Danielle, as if having a similar thought as to her not being a silent bystander anymore.

"He brought me." Danielle teased the accusation, motioning to Sherlock with a wave. "Wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Danielle and _John_  turned to Sherlock. He wasn't talking to Danielle, she knew. She never did anything with Afghanistan except see it on the telly.

"Sorry?"John asked.

"Which was it-Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock clarified in a deep baritone voice. He gave a quick look up to him.

John Watson had come to Bart's to meet a potential flatmate. As far as he knew, John was a stranger to Sherlock. How could he know anything? John knew Mike hadn't said anything...

...which was odd, because Mike hadn't said  _anything_  to Sherlock  _at all_ , beyond his name.

John turned to Mike. The very question in his eyes. Mike only smiled as if watching his favorite program, and the best part was coming up.

His friend being no help, John turned to the other strawberry blonde woman. She was staring at the scene with faint recognition. She was still confused, definitely, but with an idea as to what the bizarre man was talking about.

"Afghanistan." The still confused doctor answered. "Sorry, how did you know-"

Suddenly, Molly came in, cup of coffee in hand.

Sherlock seemed to expect her coming at that moment. "Ah, Molly, coffee." The mousy mortician came up between the two men, holding up the glass cup of coffee. "Thank you."

He slid John's phone closed, handing it back. John was wondering when in the conversation his time in the war had come up without him knowing. Danielle wondered when Molly had taken off her lipstick.

She wouldn't ask though. Her mum always made a point of Danielle not being rude to people.

"What happened to the lipstick?"

Danielle suddenly praised the idea of Sherlock never being around her mother.

"It wasn't working for me." Molly admitted, awkwardly.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement." Sherlock countered. "Your mouth's too small now."

Sherlock walked past her. Danielle stared at him, shocked at him being so  _rude_. She shouldn't be too surprised. It was barely an hour ago that he was tugging Erika's leash out of her hands.

Molly wasn't thinking along the same lines. Clearly his rudeness was a common occurrence. "...Okay."

Call it  _Girl Code_ , but Danielle couldn't let Molly walk out of this room with  _that_  look. "I thought you looked pretty." Danielle tried to cheer up the mortician. "It made your eyes pop, and made your cheeks look more pink."

Though Molly was hurt, Danielle's words had helped. "Thanks." She left the room. This was enough ' _Sherlock'_  for one day.

Danielle frowned, but perked up. There would be other opportunities to make friends with  _Molly_.

"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked. It was directed at John again. The man with the cane coming out of his dumbstruck revivré

Sherlock's stoic voice gave Danielle the idea to whack Sherlock upside his head. She wondered if his curls would bounce off his head.

John wondering why Sherlock cared. "I'm sorry, what?"

Danielle was about to ask similar, until she saw Mike's smug grin.

Her eyes lit up. Oh my, Sherlock was about to do that deduction trick again, wasn't he? She'd only seen it one time and it was already her favorite thing.

Mike must've known. That's why he had been so simple when introducing John! He wanted John to be deduced by Sherlock!

While typing fast paced on a laptop, Sherlock didn't disappoint. "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He peered over at John. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

Then he gave John the most fake friendly smile Danielle had ever seen.

She...felt that was a bit lackluster. Wasn't he gonna go on a big rant like he had with her? John already knew he was here for a flatmate, why did the consulting detective point it out?

John turned to his friend. "Oh, you...you told him about me?"

Mike smiled knowingly. "Not a word."

"But how did he know he was meeting a flatmate?" Danielle asked, eyebrows going up. "He knew that this morning. That's what he told me when we were coming here. Someone had to tell him, right?"

"Correct, Danielle. I did." Sherlock spoke in a voice that Danielle knew could only precede a long speech. He grabbed the blue coat, wrapping it around him. "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

"' _Clearly'_?" Danielle pointed out.

"Yeah, how did you know about Afghanistan?" The doctor asked.

True to his character, Sherlock Holmes ignored them in favor of his scarf. He pulled out his cellphone-

"Hold on, you had your bloody phone?" Danielle snapped. "Then why ask for our's?"

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London." Sherlock went on. Danielle found herself staring at Mike, with an expression of  _'this is what I deal with now'_. She thought she looked like Jim from  _The_   _Office. "_ Together we ought to be able to afford it."

He made his way to the door, stopping at Danielle's side. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry-gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

The young landlady was surprised. So surprised she only barely remembered she should  _probably_  be following him.  _'How does one forget their riding crop?'_ She mused.  _'And, how is John supposed to find it? Does Mike tell him, or is that it?'_

John turned to them. "Is that it?" He asked.

Sherlock and Danielle paused. Danielle turned to pay careful attention to her possible neighbor. Sherlock, on the other hand, twirled around to John. "Is that what?" Sherlock asked in an all too innocent voice.

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" John questioned the sanity of everyone involved.

The dark haired man raised a questioning eyebrow. "Problem?" He asked, as if the answer wasn't clear to him.

This made the other man start to laugh. Danielle watched as John tried getting help from Mike, only for Mike to smile at Sherlock. In a last ditch effort he looked to Danielle. She knew  _she_  was no help. She was hoping Sherlock with  _deduce_ John Watson.

"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name." John argued.

_Oh._

_Yes._

_Knowing the name is important, isn't it?_

Danielle felt her pale cheeks go pink when she recalled no one had said Sherlock's name. Well, that's all just wonderful isn't it?

The consulting detective studied John one more time before  _explaining everything._

"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him-possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic-quite correctly, I'm afraid."

And instantly, Danielle was smiling like a child getting cotton candy.

The victim of the deduction stared down at his leg, feeling awkward. Why was everyone so insistent that his limp was psychosomatic?

Sherlock was smug that he managed to impress Danielle twice now. That was a bit of a scientific oddity, in his experience at least. Usually someone was hitting him by now. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

He twirled around to continue on to the mortuary. That riding crop was perfect for his experiments. It could take ages to find a new one that fit into Sherlock's needs.

He pulled open the door, half noticing Danielle staring at him with wide eyes, before turning to John again. He had made a point about the name and address thing. Sherlock doubted Mike would tell him.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He winked at John, then with a quick ' _afternoon'_ to Mike and a  _'hurry along_ ' to Danielle.

Who, again, wasn't a dog!

She turned to Mike, once again staring at him like Jim stared at cameras. Beside her, John was making a similar expression of confusion.

Mike nodded knowingly at them (had he ever stopped doing that?). "Yeah. He's always like that."

This was certainly going to be a fun night.

Especially when Danielle realized they would be breaking into the mortuary again!  _Dammit!_

 


	5. Mister Mary Poppins

She hadn't gotten the chance to talk to Molly again. It was a bit of a shame. Danielle had been wanted to make friends outside of Baker Street. She would have other chances, she was sure. Well, unless Sherlock never brought her back. He  _had_  left her downstairs...

A downside was that she had gotten lost while searching for Sherlock. She ended up missing him, so she had to call her own cab.

Danielle walked out onto the sidewalk. She should probably be heading back to Baker Street. It made sense that Sherlock would head back home after checking in with Molly.

That, and she would just like to go home and try to process how her day had gone.

She held out her hand, trying to hail a cab.

Her phone rang though. A small part of her thought it was Sherlock, calling to scold her about getting lost in the hospital. As if it were her fault that he had legs like a jaguar, and could easily outrun her. Shame on  _her_ for being so short.

" _Danielle Nolan?"_ A male voice spoke.

"This is she."

" _There's a camera on the hospital to your left. Look up at it."_ The man went on in a detached voice.

Danielle did so. She could easily spot the CCTV camera. It rotated away from her direction to her surprise. She didn't remember much from her maths classes, but she knew that angle wouldn't be able to spot her.

" _And the building just beyond that_."

Danielle, with hesitance, looked over at the other building. Again the camera moved so as to avoid seeing her. She felt her jaw go down.

" _Go into the van."_  The voice asked with the bare minimum of politeness.

"What van?" Danielle asked. "And how did you do that?"

At that moment, a black van pulled up.

Danielle blinked. "Oh. That van." Danielle stared at the black SUV. "You've got good timing. That was a bit scary."

A brunette in a pretty black dress walked out, holding the door open for the redhead. She was texting on her phone, not looking up at Danielle. It took the landlady a moment to comprehend the man's request (okay overly polite demand).

"Nope.  _That_ is  _not_  a cab. My nan fell for this when I was a kid. I still don't know how we didn't get murdered." Danielle warned to the voice on the phone. She still teased her nan about it, over a decade after the joke had died.

" _Get into the car, Miss Nolan."_  The man requested again.  _"You'll find you have no say about this."_

She sighed. Of course this would happen  _today_. She was just having the  _best_  luck today.

==NKMHLY==

Danielle Nolan idly wondered what music they would play at her funeral. She would like it if they played techno music, or maybe rock? She could see her mum's tense face as Prince played out at her funeral. Danielle thinks that would satisfy her, allow her spirit to rest.

She knew her imagination was running away with her. What more did she have to do? She was  _(not technically)_ dragged into a black van by a mysterious voice over a phone to an unknown location. She was gonna be murdered!

...maybe Sherlock would solve her murder and go _'oh that's where Danielle went'_.

The brunette woman was on her phone. Danielle wondered who the woman must be taking.

"Am I about to be murdered?" Danielle asked, five minutes into the drive.

The woman didn't look up from the phone. If anything she seemed more focused on her phone.

"It's just...I saw the movie  _Hostel_ , where rich men kill tourists for fun. The movie  _sucked_." Danielle groaned. She laid back out onto the seat she was in. This seat was comfortable. "Which means something from me, cause I've got no taste in movies and telly. But, but  _Hostel_  honestly was hell." Nothing from the brunette woman. She paused in her texting, though. "Can I at least get a reaction out of you?"

Oh look, she was texting again.

"Do you have a name?" Danielle asked. She should at least know the name of the last woman she'd ever speak with.

The woman paused in her texting. "...Frankie." She smiled thinly at Danielle.

"Are you being honest?" The redhead countered.

"No." The woman admitted. She never replied with her proper name.

"Alright." Danielle nodded. She turned to gaze out the window. "Then you can call me Rose Tyler. I know I look like Amy, and have the personality of Donna, but I took one of those online quizzes and it said I was  _'Rose Tyler'._ "

Nothing.

Jokes would be wasted on this woman.

On the other hand...Danielle had a lot of bad jokes she'd been trying to find someone to tell. She wasn't about to die without telling these jokes.

"Why can't dogs dance?" Danielle asked. She was already laughing at her own joke. "Cause they got two left feet!"

'Frankie' gave a small laugh at the joke.

Oh, now the landlady was going to have  _fun._

==NKMHLY==

"Okay, okay." Danielle was red from laughter. The woman, Frankie, had tan skin so it was hard to tell if she was turning red. "I heard this one last week. A hamburger walks into a bar, it orders a drink. The bartender says  _'sorry, we don't serve food here.'_ "

Frankie laughed that time. She'd been laughing for the past few miles with Danielle's jokes. None of them were funny, mostly puns and...more puns. It was just the constant stream of poor jokes got to the secretary of the British Government. Also, Danielle just endless supply. The woman had more bad jokes than Christmas crackers!

"Last one!" Danielle laughed. Frankie didn't know if she could take another bad joke. "Harry Potter can't tell the difference between his best friend and a cooking appliance. They're both  _cauldron._ "

The two women started letting out shouts of laughter. They laughed until the car pulled under the abandoned parking garage. Even when she went to open the door for Danielle, Frankie was still laughing.

Danielle climbed out of the car. The last of her laughs fading as Danielle observed the decrepit space.

"Wow. The Premier Inns have really let themselves go." She joked.

Frankie gave her a small smile as she texted away.

There was a man hiding in the shadows. He had ginger hair, though much darker than Danielle's soft orange. He was dressed in a tailored suit, making him look like one of those secret service agents.

The man was holding an umbrella. Even Danielle could guess why. You never know when it would start raining in London. There was a small chance that it was a weapon, but who would want an  _umbrella_  for a weapon?

Okay there was a pointy end. Not really pointy, but Danielle was sure it would do for a fast fight.

Danielle walked over towards him. She wasn't the brightest bulb out there, she could still figure out this was the man that called her and moved the cameras.

"Hello." Danielle greeted, giving a polite smile. "If only there was a way to communicate in private. Like...like some kind of  _telephone_ device, or something, so you could have called me. Like, maybe if you were already on the phone with me? Too bad."

"You seem tense." The umbrella man commented with a smug smile.

"Always knew I'd be murdered someday for my lip." Danielle explained. "Just though it'd be cause I told a stabber ' _what're you gonna do, stab me?'_  then get stabbed a dozen times. Did  _not_  expect to be brought to an underground parking garage, by a man with an umbrella."

The strange man's lips twisted in a way Danielle  _could_  call a smile. It could have been a sneer? No, could this be the literal upside-down frown?

Her mind started running away from her again. Was she not going to be murdered?

"Is this about following Sherlock into the mortuary?" Danielle asked. "Because I swear, he said it was fine."

"No." The man's face scrunched up in annoyance. "That's not-"

Danielle let out a loud sigh of relief. " _Good_. That's been bugging me for a bit. Stopped for awhile, until I saw  _you_ and the black SUV. That'd make anyone nervous about anything. Cause now I'm thinking about any sort of bad thing I've done lately. Like when a copper starts driving behind you, even though you didn't do anything. You start worrying about the test you sorta cheated on in year nine. It's not my fault that Hugh was smarter than me. Or that he wasn't coverin' up his sheet." She babbled.

"Miss Nolan." The man spoke. Danielle clapped her lips shut.

Well, she hadn't been stabbed with an umbrella, so she assumed things were going well.

"You have gained the interest of Sherlock Holmes." The man began.

"I did?" Danielle asked in surprise. The man narrowed his eyes at being interrupted. "By giving him food? How does...okay, I see it now."

The man huffed. She felt bad...for a moment. "It has surprised us as well. He abhors neighbors, especially overly excitable ones like yourself."

"Oi! I don't laugh at you for carrying that umbrella!" She snapped. Over excitable? She had been taken into a parking garage. Danielle bought she was reacting quite normally. "As for Sherlock, I only met him this morning."

"And already, you're following him into hospitals." The man countered.

Danielle felt some heat go to her cheeks. "Who  _are_  you? What gives you any right to judge  _me_ , Umbrella Man?" She snapped. She felt a bit of false bravado.

"An interested party." The man answered after a pause.

"Right. Interested in who?" Danielle added. "It's not me. If it was, you wouldn't be talking to me. You don't ask the birthday girl to help plan her surprise party. It's not Sherlock. You don't really look like you and him would be pals."

"You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has?" The man countered. "I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And that is?" Danielle asked, harshly.

"An enemy." He answered easily.

"An enemy?" She scrunched up her nose. "That's a bit pessimistic, innit?"

"In his mind, we are." The man explained. He got this far off look. "If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy." He gave a small, bitter laugh. "He does love to be dramatic."

"Well thank God you're here to bring balance to the universe." Danielle snarked.

The man through her a withered stare. It was clear she was pushing the limits of his patience. That was Danielle's speciality. "Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" He asked sternly.

"Forgive me for presuming, but I think that's none of your business." Danielle argued.

"It could be." The man countered with a smug eyebrow lift.

"It really couldn't." Danielle shook her head.

"If he does move into, um... two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

"Why?"

She wished she wore heels so she could slap this man with them. "Because you're not a wealthy woman."

That was a bit rude. Yes he was ginger but that did not mean he had to be the soulless stereotype Danielle had dealt with for most of her life. "What do you get out of this, then?"

"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to." He explained carefully.

"How do you know what makes me uncomfortable?" Danielle asked in disagreement. "'S a presuming a bit much." The man gave her a look. "Why should I?" She asked, humoring him.

"I worry about him. Constantly." The man answered. Danielle could understand that, being protective over someone. "But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a...difficult relationship."

She'd regret it later, but Danielle was considering the offer. Whoever this bloke was he had a point, she wasn't a wealthy woman. Danielle had been looking to fill 223b, maybe get a second job on the side to give her a little extra. Her share of her inheritance from her father was still there, but she didn't want to dig into that without an emergency.

 _What about Sherlock?_  A voice Danielle liked to think was her conscience asked.

Danielle'd only known him something close to three hours now, possibly four. The pale man had called her names to her face.  _Except he wasn't doing it to be mean._ The man had yanked Erika's leash out of her hands.  _He hadn't hurt Erika, only annoyed her._  He left her in the hospital basement.  _He brought her there, he didn't have to do that._  Sherlock had left Danielle to be lost. _He took her to meet his new flatmate. A man who didn't even know Sherlock's name._ Would he do the same for us, probably not.

Her decision was made.

"It's a lovely offer, sir, but I'm afraid I have to say no." She glanced back the way she came, not surprised to see the car was gone. "Now, does that car come back or am I walking home?"

"But I haven't mentioned a figure." Great, she was dealing with a sore loser.

"Don't bother." Danielle asked, waving his offer away. She made her way towards the exit. If she got a cab now, she could get home in time to feed Erika and Nightwing before they wrecked the place in a hunger strike.

"You're very loyal, very quickly." The man commented with a knowing tune to his words.

"I must be an idiot to you, because what sane person accepts a deal made by a shady character with an umbrella in an abandoned parking garage?" Danielle countered. She was giving him a quirked eyebrow of disapproval, hand on her hip, all the pure elements of sass.

The man didn't even look angry. He looked resigned. He looked- _oh Danielle wanted to whack him for this-_ pleased by the idea of Danielle's rejection. "I could advise you to stay away, or wait for him to be bored with you, but I can tell from your purse that it's unlikely."

"Sorry, you can what?" The hairs on Danielle's neck stood up at his words. They sounded vaguely similar to Sherlock when he was pointing facts out to her earlier.

Just like that, the man had power in the conversation again. His smirk proved that he knew it too. "Your purse. Most women tend to notice when they leave their purse in a stranger's car. You've been standing here for five minutes without it, along with your phone. Which means you must have left them behind in the car on purpose."

Danielle flinched to check. Sure enough, her purse and phone were nowhere on her person.

"You walked here expecting to face a battle." The man explained. "You didn't even think about the consequences, you ran in here prepared to die for whatever reasons you came up with in your silly little head."

She glared her soft blue eyes at him. Oddly it did nothing to stop him.

"It's best not to let yourself be carried away by the...adventure." Umbrella man's face crinkled at the word. "When running with Sherlock Holmes, you see war. A good proportion of London are inept at spotting the dangers until it's too late."

Danielle Nolan did not like this man, and hopefully it would be the last time they ever spoke.

Somehow, she knew it was only the beginning.

==NKMHLY==

When Frankie dropped her off at Baker Street, Danielle was actually eager to get away from the craziness. She would talk to Sherlock tomorrow. She'd spent too much time around  _people_  today. Plus there was the twenty minutes she thought she was going to die, then meeting a weird bloke in the dark.

Danielle went into her flat. The landlady felt like she was taking off a disguise as she stepped in the dark purples of her flat. The insane three hours felt like three months.

All this because she knew Sherlock was going to ask for a flatmate?

Whatever, Danielle was going to deal with it tomorrow. She had animals that needed attention tonight.

Erika came up first.

"Hello Erika." Danielle cheered. She knelt down, scratching behind Erika's ears. The puppy barked excitedly. Their peaceful walk was distracted "Let's get you fed, eh? Dinner time."

The puppy recognized the word. She dashed off to the kitchen.

"Nightwing." She regarded in what she thought was a posh voice. In reality she sounded like Aunt Petunia in  _Harry Potter_.

The black cat didn't care. He walked on, caring more about his food.

Danielle felt herself laughing. She looked down at Erika, who was happily hopping behind her. "Okay. Quick dinner, then I've got things to do."

Erika yipped happily.

Ten minutes later, when the animals were fed, Danielle was sitting at her laptop in her room. " _'Wait for him to get bored with you?'_ " Danielle spoke, trying to copy that man's baritone. It was horrid. She powered up the laptop, opening it up to  _Google_. "' _You see the battlefield with him.'_...flogs a dead body for a police case...just who are you Sherlock Holmes?"

She spent the rest of the night on  _Science of Deduction._

_...243 types of tobacco ash?_

 


	6. Breakfast At Danielle's

The next day, Danielle prepared for John's arrival.

Danielle fed the dog and cat, pouring herself a nice bowl of breakfast. Nightwing was demanding to be held today, so Danielle had to walk around her flat with the cat in her arms. The cat was finicky today.

She let her mind wander while she got herself ready for a shower. She was thinking about which outfit she should wear. It was supposed to rain wasn't it always raining now a days? later tonight so she should think with that in mind. She stepped into her shower, briefly letting herself wander to memories of last night.

She washed her hair while wondering what to do about the thing last night. It didn't seem important to tell anyone, if anyone would believe her anyway. The man  _had_  asked for the silence, regardless. He seemed the type of Bond villain to make sure of it. Danielle felt she could give him that much.

There was a loud crash from the living room. Erika started barking wildly. Danielle groaned. Nightwing must've knocked something down onto Erika again. She hadn't had a chance to wash her hair yet! It was always such a pain to brush it when dried!

She turned the shower off, quickly putting on a towel around her hair to keep it from dripping on the hardwood.

"Nightwing what's with all the rack- _holy crap_!"

There was an obvious difference. Last she checked, Sherlock didn't have a key to her flat. So that meant he shouldn't be sitting on her couch, with Erika barking madly at his toes and Nightwing on the cushion beside him.

"What the hell are you doing in my flat?!" Danielle squeaked loudly. She crossed her arms over her chest, knowing the action was futile. Sherlock had seen  _everything_. "Did you break into my flat?" Danielle snapped harshly. She ducked back towards her bathroom, looking for a spare towel.

Sherlock threw her an unamused look. She knew she couldn't see it. The thing was just  _audible_. "You weren't answering your phone."

That was odd. Danielle knew her phone was charged, with the ringer on high. She really liked her ringtone. How could she have missed her phone ringing? Was it the shower?

No, wait. They was a bigger question there. "How do you have my number?!" Danielle shouted in addition. She pulled a second towel over her body. She could feel heat still in her cheeks so she didn't dare walk out yet. "Erika, quit barking!" The dog ignored her.

"Mrs Hudson gave it to me." Sherlock answered easily. "You weren't answering, so I needed to confirm that nothing could have happened since last night."

The redhead blinked, unsure if she should be touched or weirded out by the concern.

Probably supposed to be weirded out.

Danielle decided she was touched.  _(Probably not a good thing to think when your neighbor sees you naked.)_

Sherlock chose a third option. The one he always seemed to have, because quite frankly the other options were too dull. "Oh quit being  _stupid_. It wouldn't do if John moved in only for myself to be arrested. I left Bart's. I was under the assumption that you were clever enough to follow me. Obviously I thought wrong."

"You were...worried?" Danielle asked. She searched for something to throw on, at least until she could finish her shower. _'I don't know why Umbrella Man said he doesn't have friends. He's a mess at it, but he's trying.'_  "Enough to get my number from Mrs Hudson, then come into my flat?"

"No. I simply confirming a theory." Sherlock argued after a short pause. So short it didn't need to be mentioned. So shut it.

"The theory that you didn't need to be worried?" Danielle pressed on.

"No!"

"Yes."

"I'm saying no!"

"Well I'm saying yes!"

"Then what you're saying is wrong!"

" _I'm_  in the wrong here?"

"Yes you are!"

"You broke into my flat while I was having a shower." Danielle countered. "How am  _I_ in the wrong?"

"You didn't lock your door."

"Yes I did!"

"Your lock is rubbish. Get a new one."

Danielle huffed. She had just found a decent night shirt and trousers, quickly throwing them on so she could throttle the man. "Erika! I said  _stop it_!" She snapped. The dog stopped barking, then started growling.

"...what the hell was that crashing noise?" Danielle remembered suddenly. "There a noise. A loud one. What did you break?!"

"Oh good. You noticed that."

"Give me a fucking prize. What did you break?"

"They're not broken. A shelf fell over. Why did you put this shelf by the window?"

She gasped as she ran out to see her shelf. She had just gotten her books organized how she liked them!

"Damn it!" She snapped, seeing the large pile of books on her floor as well as some of her Pop Vinyls. "You knocked over my Spock!" She knelt down to grab the shelf, setting it back up in it's proper place before getting to the books.

"Ah yes. That's which one he was." Sherlock remarked, gazing down at the mess like it did him a disservice. It didn't help her anger. "I could never remember his name."

"What? You didn't watch Star Trek?" Danielle asked, struggling with the board.  _'It'd be great if there was someone in the flat-maybe the person that made this mess-that could help me clean_.' "You look like the type that'd watch it."

"I had little interest for watching the telly as a child." Sherlock argued.

' _Great. Now I've got an image of tiny Sherlock in a too-big coat and scarf running around London, shouting at the police.'_  "Next time you're in my flat, be more careful! Spock liked being with the books." She started to put the books back up.

"He's an inanimate object, he doesn't have feelings." Sherlock reminded her, in his  _'I'm smarter than everyone_ ' voice. "Maybe you should remember that for later."

"I know! But...it was cute to have Spock with the books, okay?" Danielle snapped harshly. "What if I put  _your_  skull on the mantle? Would that be good enough for you?"

Erika barked harshly at Sherlock again.

"She holds a grudge from yesterday." Danielle explained to Sherlock. "Erika. Stop it now. Mum's handled it!"

The labrador seemed chastised now. She gave a glare to Sherlock before going to the kitchen, probably to sulk. She didn't sulk that often. Dammit, Danielle wanted to take it back. The redhead hating upsetting her dog.

"At least Nightwing likes you. He hates everyone, 'cept me."

"Next time?" Sherlock suddenly commented.

"What?"

"You said  _'next time you're in my flat'_. I presume that means I'm allowed back in?" Sherlock asked.

Danielle blinked in surprise. She  _had_  said that, hadn't she?

"I guess so, yeah." She replied, as she stacked books back on her shelf. "But next time wait for me to say it's alright. I don't fancy this happening again."

Sherlock actually looked delighted (and if Danielle was honest, a bit confused) to be let back in. "Perfect. We should get ready. John will be here in a few hours. It won't be good to welcome our new neighbor looking like tramps."

"Gee I should take a shower. Do you mind?" Danielle requested, giving him a quick glare.

"Yes. I need to go back to Scotland Yard." Sherlock rose off the couch, floating off like king of the flat. "I need to see if they arrested the brother yet."

"For which case? The one with the green ladder, or the body you flogged yesterday?"

"The one with the ladder." Sherlock answered. His blue eyes crinkled in delight. "You read my blog?"

"Yeah...please never talk about the 243 types of tobacco. I'd get lost, and I don't want to be rude." Danielle explained, lifting her Spock Pop off the ground. "And I like the idea of you telling that one lady-the one with those fancy shoes- that her husband was cheating on her with her boss. It's hilarious, cause I could actually hear you saying it to her! And she'd shout back in this really snooty voice!"

That was probably the best response about his blog that Sherlock had ever heard.

==NKMHLY==

At seven o'clock, Danielle went over to 221 to meet John, the newest addition to Baker Street.

She decided on wearing a deep blue dress, that was similar to a sundress except had longer sleeves. The dress fell to her knees. She also had a pair of long black leggings, the London breeze in January was no joke. Her shoes were a simple pair of black moccasins (she loved these shoes). Her hair had been done in one long curl, over her left shoulder. She tended to curl her hair like that when she was nervous.

She walked out of her flat to see John walking up, his cane making a distinct clapping noise against the pavement. She smiled at him, walking over.

John smiled back, once he saw her. "Hello. Miss Nolan, yeah?"

"Yeah. Doctor Watson?"

"Just John, if you don't mind."

"Then I'm just Danielle." Danielle countered, with a victorious smile.

"Alright." He smiled warmly. Danielle had a feeling that he was a mighty fine doctor, with that smile. He turned to 221. "Is he up there?"

"Nah. He should be here any-" Danielle stopped herself, seeing Sherlock pull up in a taxi. "There he is."

"Hello." Sherlock greeted John. He turned back, quickly handing money to the cabbie. "Thank you."

John and Danielle turned towards him. John stretched out his hand. "Ah, Mr Holmes."

"Sherlock, please." The consulting detective asked. The two men shook hands.

Danielle smiled a bit awkwardly. She hadn't seen Sherlock since that morning. It was humiliating, for one, and the man had broken into her flat. She could remember how hot her cheeks had gotten.

"Well, this is a prime spot." John commented, while looking up at the flats. "Must be expensive."

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal." Sherlock excused. "Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

"Sorry-you stopped her husband being executed?" John asked.

"Oh no. I ensured it." He gave that  _'let's start with a riding crop'_  smile.

It was perfect timing. Mrs Hudson opened the door for the three of them. The elder landlady pulled Sherlock in for a hug, which was about the sweetest thing Danielle had ever seen. "Sherlock, hello."

Sherlock gave her a brief hug, before turning back to John and Danielle. The man was keeping a face firmly denying he had ever done something so human as to give someone a friendly hug. "Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson, you know Danielle Nolan."

Mrs Hudson smiled warmly at them. "Hello."

"How do?" John greeted.

"Good to be back." Danielle replied.

Mrs Hudson led them inside. "Come in." She opened the door wide enough for everyone to shuffle in.

"Thank you." The doctor breathed.

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked, impatient.

Mrs Hudson nodded. "Yeah."

Danielle followed them up to 221b. She ended up behind John, who hobbled up the steps with his walking cane. Sherlock bounced up the steps, two at a time. He was at least decent enough to wait at the door for them.

The door was opened wide. Danielle saw Sherlock was still in the process of putting all his things away.

' _He had the nerve to judge_ my _decoration? I should have brought_ this _up. Smug arse!'_

"Well, this could be very nice." John stated. He looked around the new flat. "Very nice indeed."

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock bobbed his head, keeping focus on John.

"So I went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out...Oh."

Danielle couldn't help but giggle at the awkward scene that followed.

"So this is all-"

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit."

Sherlock tried to tidy up, but it wasn't getting anywhere. This place would be a good house someday. Danielle caught sight of a mirror, quickly glancing to check her hair.

"That's a skull." John pointed out.

"Friend of mine." Sherlock answered. "When I say 'friend'."

"I like it." Danielle complimented.

Sherlock smiled at her again.

She'd never admit her heart felt warm at that smile.

She didn't even notice Mrs Hudson come up with empty tea cups.

"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson?" Mrs Hudson asked. "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

"Of course we'll be needing two." John stated, scrunching up how face in confusion.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here." Mrs Hudson leaned over to Danielle, whispering in conspiracy. "You know Mrs Turner next door's got married ones."

Danielle blushed at Mrs Hudson's words. Yes, Mrs Turner was usually bragging about her  _'married ones'_  to the other landlords/ladies on Baker Street. The Hames' were decent blokes, they didn't deserve to be called  _'the married ones'_.

John seemed to have caught that comment. He didn't dignify it with a didn't noticed any of this. He was idling through some of the boxes.

Trying to think about anything else, Danielle noticed a bull's head with white headphones on.  _'Not even the furniture likes hearing Sherlock when he's in a mood.'_  She found herself thinking. She let herself smile.

"Oh, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson tsked. Sherlock's head popped straight up. "The mess you've made." She chided him, moving into the kitchen to tidy up.

"I'm trying not to look at it." Danielle acknowledged.

John fell down in the older looking chair. Danielle took that as an invite to relax, so she settled herself down on the couch. She quite liked it. It was surprisingly comfortable.

"I looked you up on the internet last night." John spoke, more like a start to some small talk really.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked, nonchalant.

"Found your website,  _The Science of Deduction_." John went on.

"What did you think?" Sherlock didn't even hide that he was fishing for compliments.

Danielle nearly snorted at John's face. She couldn't hold much back at Sherlock's.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." John recited, skeptical.

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." Sherlock explained. He gave Danielle a pointed stare. "And I can see your family history in your keychain."

"How?" John and Danielle asked.

The maddening man turned away with a knowing smile. The kind you wanted to smack off someone so they wouldn't look so smug.

She never had much thought for slapping people until Sherlock. Maybe the occasionally bloke on the street, or someone she saw on the telly, but never someone who's name she knew. Danielle would have, except there were witnesses. She never like doing things in front of witnesses.

(That was a lot less menacing in her head)

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson encouraged, coming out from the kitchen with the newspaper. "I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

"Four."

Danielle turned over to Sherlock. The man had said it with such certainty. "What?"

The man was staring out the window on the street.

"There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time." Sherlock added, cryptically.

"A fourth?" Mrs Hudson asked.

Sherlock turned to the door, just as a man Danielle had never seen before ran in. He was bit old, but he was looking at Sherlock like the pale man was his last hope.

"Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What's new about this one?" Sherlock asked. "You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did."  _"That's a bit different, yeah_.' Danielle thought. "Will you come?" The older man near begged.

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock replied instead.

The man gave him a look of  _'now don't hate me for these words'_. "It's Anderson."

Sherlock gave a quiet noise of disgust. "Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant." The other man tried to say it as a positive.

"I need an assistant." Sherlock countered.

Meanwhile, Danielle was watching them argue with a literal front row seat.

The man huffed, before staring at Sherlock in patience. "Will you come?" He asked again.

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind." Sherlock decided

The man bowed his head, playing to Sherlock as if giving this man the time was like being given gold from a king. "Thank you." The stranger glanced at Mrs Hudson, John, and Danielle before walking back out.

It wasn't until the man was long gone, did Danielle turn to ask a question. Before she could get the first syllable out, Sherlock was jumping up and down in childlike excitement.

"Brilliant! Yes!" He cheered. He did a little twirl in the middle of the room. "Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" The unbridled enthusiasm was infectious. It was making Danielle smile, though she was confused.

Picking up his scarf and that long coat, Sherlock made his way to the kitchen. "Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food." Sherlock explained in a rush.

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs Hudson chided.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home." Sherlock carried on. "The biscuits Danielle left yesterday are cold, have at them. Don't wait up!" Then he ran out the door.

The older landlady tsked at the man running down the stairs. "Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same." Mrs Hudson assured John.

John grimaced in discomfort. Danielle didn't understand why, until she realized Mrs Hudson still thought he and Sherlock were- _ahem._

"But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell." Mrs Hudson went on.

Both John and Danielle shifted nervously in their respective seats as Mrs Hudson went on.

"I'll make you and her those cuppas. You rest your leg." Mrs Hudson assured.

"Damn my leg!" John snapped. The two women jumped. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing-" He apologized, face turning a pale pink as he avoided looking both women in the eyes.

"I understand, dear; I've got a hip." She made her way out the back.

"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you." John spoke, picking up the newspaper.

Danielle sat up on the couch, walking up to one of the many boxes Sherlock had. If he was gonna criticize her library, she was gonna criticize his! _'Ginger justice rules Baker Street!'_  She joked. She pulled out a book on the study of human bones.

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper." Mrs Hudson reminded.

"Maybe some of those biscuits too." John went on. Danielle caught glance at the paper, seeing a photo of the man who'd just come in.  _DI Lestrade_ , the paper said.

"Not your housekeeper!" Mrs Hudson shouted over her shoulder. Danielle giggled "Danielle, you get him the biscuits!" She scolded.

"Yes ma'am." Danielle laughed. Though that meant going in the kitchen...which the eldest Nolan was in no hurry to do. "I'm not in a hurry to go in that kitchen. No kitchen should have a bunsen burner that's got scorch marks around it." She told John.

The doctor just smiled kindly at her. He glanced at the kitchen, seeing the virtual lab Sherlock had created. "It's alright, I'm not mad enough to go in their either."

"Sorry if I've been a bit quiet." She found herself saying. "It's just...I was a bit sidetracked by bull-head wearing headphones...and I'm pretty sure I see a crossbow in one of these boxes."

"'S a bit weird, yeah." John agreed. The two laughed. "You don't have to live with it."

"I live next to it. You only live on top of it, apparently." Danielle pointed out, with a giggle.

She stopped just as she put the book down, hearing Sherlock come back up the steps. He was being very quiet about it. Danielle always a sort of sixth sense (this morning excluded. No one ever came in her flat while she  _showered!_ ) when someone came in a room.

"You're a doctor." Sherlock spoke, startling John in his chair. The consulting detective was putting his gloves on. "In fact you're an Army doctor."

"Yes." John answered, rising up to his feet.

"Any good?" Sherlock pressed.

It occurred to John and Danielle that he was being interviewed for more than just being a flatmate. "Very good." John stated.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths." Sherlock went on.

"Mmm, yes." John agreed.

"Bit of trouble too, I bet." Sherlock tested.

The next words were spoken quietly. Danielle strained to hear John speak of the harsh topics of his army days. "Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

"Wanna see some more?" Sherlock offered.

" _Oh God, yes."_

"And you?" He asked Danielle.

"What, you want me to see the fourth serial suicide?" Danielle asked. "Why? I'm not a doctor, or with the police."

"Exactly." Sherlock stated. "And I bet you're still smarter than any of that lot."

Danielle grinned a tongue on tooth smile. Oh  _now_  she was being given a challenge. She couldn't just mosey on down to her flat after this, could she? "I'll take that bet, yeah."

Sherlock smirked, smugly.

Again, Danielle had the urge to smack it off.

Again,  _witness_.

Sherlock, Danielle, and John made their way down the stairs. It was exciting, Danielle thought. Yes also a mighty bit terrifying, but wasn't all the best stuff?

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, we'll skip the tea. Off out." John called out.

Their landlady looked up at them, having just gotten to the bottom of the stairs herself. "All of you?" She asked as Danielle hopped down the last three steps.

Sherlock made a dramatic spin just as he reached the door. He went right up to Mrs Hudson, holding her shoulders in his hands. "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's  _finally_  something fun going on!" He gave her a happy kiss on the cheek.

Mrs Hudson smiled. Danielle thought it was all so sweet and- _oh my god could we get going please?_ "Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." Mrs Hudson chastised the lot of them.

Danielle realized that she was exciting to see a dead woman's body. A woman who, probably not even a day ago, had been alive and unknowingly living her last day. Danielle herself was wearing a bright sundress, with a beautiful curl in her hair and definitely some pink on her cheeks. Her mother would've slapped her arm for looking so happy while running to the police like this. Her mother would slap her for what happened that very morning!

Then, Sherlock zoomed past her, uttering words that Danielle knew she could never forget. "Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!"

Yeah. When had Danielle started to care about being  _decent?_  She was wearing a blue sundress in January in _London_!

So she followed Sherlock to the taxi.

 


	7. WWSD

It would normally have been a tight fit. Sherlock was so slim anyway that it hardly mattered when all three crammed into the backseat. Danielle just rested her purse on her lap, crossing her legs so they wouldn’t bump into John’s cane.

It was awhile before Sherlock spoke up. The sun had set by then. Danielle was trying not to be nosy, but Sherlock had been on his phone the whole drive here. She wondered what he was doing. She had to repeatedly 

“Okay, you’ve got questions.” Sherlock stated, after Danielle had been caught for the third time in a minute peaking at his phone screen.

“Yeah, where are we going?” Danielle asked as her cheeks went a bit pink.

“Crime scene. Next?”

“Who are you? What do you do?” John asked.

“What do you think?” Sherlock challenged. Danielle didn’t answer, he had already told her yesterday.

“I’d say private detective.” John began. 

Sherlock tutored an eyebrow at his unfinished sentence. “But?”

The doctor sounded as if he were still figuring the answer out himself. “...but the police don’t go to private detectives.”

Sherlock actually looked proud at John’s answer. Danielle could understand why, if she didn’t have Sherlock’s bony elbow so close to her hip. This is why she hated sharing cabs. “I’m a consulting detective.” Sherlock helped John along. Most of the time he talked that way to everyone, Danielle noted. “Only one in the world. I invented the job.”

Danielle opened her mouth to ask her own questions. “What does that mean?” John asked.

“It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.” Sherlock explained with a roll of his eyes. Danielle figured that was more towards the police than towards her.

“The police don’t consult amateurs.” John noted with a laugh.

Danielle couldn’t help it. She laughed too. She tried to cover it up at Sherlock’s indignant stare, except...his own _ face _ was ridiculously petulant!

“When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, ‘Afghanistan or Iraq?’ You looked surprised.” Sherlock took John down a different conversation point.

“Yes, how did you know?” John asked, curiosity peaked.

“I didn’t know, I saw.” Sherlock explained. “Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room, said trained at Bart’s, so Army doctor-obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp’s really bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand, like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan-Afghanistan or Ira _ q _ .”

Danielle would never be able to hear of Iraq again without associating with Sherlock’s voice.

“You said I had a therapist.” John reminded, softly.

“You’ve got a psychosomatic limp-of course you’ve got a therapist.” The detective scoffed. “Then there’s your brother.”

“Hmm?” John’s face twisted in  _ actual _ confusion.

Sherlock pointed one of his long pale fingers at John’s phone. Danielle looked down at it, wondering what could possibly have been said about John’s brother from a phone.

“Your phone. It’s expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you’re looking for a flatshare-you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift, then.” Sherlock reasoned.

John passed the phone to Danielle, who passed it along to Sherlock.

Sherlock pointed at the USB port. “Scratches. Not one, many over time. It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins.” Sherlock looked up at Danielle. “The man sitting next to you wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s easy. You know it already.”

“The engraving.” John revealed just as Sherlock flipped the phone over for Danielle.

_ Harry Watson From Clara xxx _

Danielle made a small ‘aww’ noise.  _ ‘It’s a bit sad that she put on the three kisses and his brother just gave it away. And this is the new one too. What happened to Harry and Clara? Bad break-up? One of them died? Clara regifted it to John because Harry didn’t like it?’ _

Danielle had barely managed to pay attention in time to hear Sherlock talking. “Harry Watson. Clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man’s gadget. Could be a cousin, but you’re a war hero who can’t find a place to live. Unlikely you’ve got an extended family, certainly not one you’re close to, so brother it is.” Sherlock explained in rapidfire. 

John and Danielle were both staring at Sherlock with matching dumbstruck faces. John had most certainly not thought his new roommate could have noticed all of that in the span of a few minutes.

“Now, Clara. Who’s  _ Clara _ ? Three kisses says it’s a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently-this model’s only six months old. Marriage in trouble then-six months on he’s just given it away. If she’d left him, he would have kept it. People do-sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you. That says he wants you to stay in touch. You’re looking for cheap accommodation, but you’re not going to your brother for help. That says you’ve got problems with him.  _ Maybe _ you liked his wife;  _ maybe _ you don’t like his drinking.”

Danielle would have wolf whistled, but she suspected Sherlock wasn’t done yet.

“How can you possibly know about the drinking?” John asked, answering Sherlock’s unspoken question.

“Shot in the dark.” Sherlock admitted with a small smile. “Good one, though. Power connection. Tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone; never see a drunk’s without them.”

Danielle was mystified. She turned to John, wondering if he had any sort of sense right now. He was looking down at his lap, to his apparently psychosomatic injury. She felt bad that now she knew so much about John’s personal life, something he might not have been entirely comfortable with, still he knew nothing of her. 

“My turn.” Danielle cheered when she gave the phone back to John. She turned to the other person in the car. “When you met me, you knew everything about me. How? And I already know about the animal hair. So you can skip that.” Danielle added.

Sherlock didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “I know. You cleaned it off, but didn’t put on a new shirt.”

“Why should I? I was going back to them that night. Too much work.” Danielle admitted.

“You love your cat more, as was evident by the fur on your arms and chest. If you were close, your sister would know that and have gotten you another cat instead of the dog. A dog is more of a family oriented pet. Your sister wants you to start dating. You haven’t. You kept her around out of moral obligation, and you have since made an attachment. Even though you hate walking her and only do it as a last resort to avoid your neighbors.”

She felt herself smirked. Anyone would be attached to Erika if they knew her for five minutes. It was either that or admit undying devotion to Nightwing. The smug cat would love it.

“Then there was the fact about your many siblings. That came from the amount of biscuits. You were used to making large plates. You used a twelve pack, and took one before giving it to me.” Sherlock explained. Danielle bit back a  _ sorry _ . “Suggests you are used to the action. With three siblings, I imagine normal families have strict guidelines on how many you were allowed to consume. No doubt as the eldest you took first pickings.”

“What about my job?” Danielle asked, mouth stretched out onto her cheek.

His face scrunched up. “I was wrong about the meaning behind it.”

“Tell me anyway.” She countered simply.

There was a pause, an actual pause. Danielle had a feeling Sherlock didn’t pause that often. Not when he was being asked to show off.

“I’m not going to hold it against you.” She immediately added. “You got it wrong, who cares? I get the date wrong so much I put three calendars in my flat. What right do  _ I  _ have laugh at  _ you _ ?”

The man stared at the woman sharing his cab. Usually, people laughed at him for any reason, especially the idiots of Scotland Yard. Sherlock never paid them mind. Most of the time people laughed to shake him off his deductions.

Even John looked a bit surprised at her admission.

“Your keychain, and your shoes.” Sherlock stated in that same quickfire voice from earlier. “Comfortable, you weren’t walking far. So you must live nearby. You arrived less than an hour after I moved in officially, and I never met you so Mrs Hudson must have told you I was coming. Now, the keychain. There wasn’t a car key on the ring. Beyond that all of the keys were house keys, all the same brand. Take all of the facts together: Mrs Hudson, short walk, prior knowledge of my arrival, too many house keys. Conclusion? You were my neighbor, and you were a landlady.”

“But why was I unhappy with it?” Danielle pushed.

“What person is happy with their job?”

“That’s fair.” Danielle had to admit, there was a point. “Bit presumptuous. Not  _ everyone’s  _ unhappy with their job. You like what you do so much you made a job up for it!”

“You dislike it because of your mother.” Sherlock stated flatly.

“Ah...Mum.” She perked up. “That would do it. Yeah. Mum is good reason not to like things, yeah. I’ll give you that one.”

“She’s controlling. You had those frilly toys on your keychain to annoy her. She wanted you to have a more respectable job. Over trimming your nails, not enough layers for London weather, hair with split ends, all multiple mistakes that any mother should have corrected well before your childhood. Your father wouldn’t have cared for them, so this would imply a closer relationship to him rather than her. You can see how long ago your father’s death was by the year stamped onto your keys. He must have encouraged your odd career choice, but you refused his money, he died not long after you purchased the next door. Your mother disliked you showing your father more affection so she let your less than ideal habits go unchecked.”

Danielle felt herself smiling. 

“Absent mindedness? You mentioned that too.”

“Yes, I was just getting to that.” Sherlock stated, sounding not at  _ all _ like he was making that up. “You forgot to coordinate your nail color with your shirt. That and you made those rubbish biscuits, obviously a last minute decision because you forgot to prepare properly.” he gave her a look. “And of course, you’ve already mentioned the three calenders.”

Danielle looked down to her pale pink painted nails. 

“There you go, you see-you were right.” Sherlock told John.

“ _ I was right _ ? Right about what?” John asked in surprise. He’d been respectfully quiet while Danielle’s whole life had been exposed like that. He wondered why she signed herself for it. Who wanted their entire life read out in front of stranger,  _ by _ a stranger?

“The police don’t consult amateurs.” The consulting detective finished with a dramatic turn of his head to face the window. She could see a faint reflection of him biting his lip.

_ Now _ she let out the wolf whistle. That was actually impressive. The explanations, not the lip biting. She would be clapping and cheering if they weren’t in an enclosed space.

“That...was amazing.” John complimented.

“It was brilliant, yeah.” Danielle agreed, her tone matching John’s.

The curly haired detective looked round to them. He seemed genuinely surprised that they were still happy, that they hadn’t tried to stop the cab. “Do you think so?” He asked, cautious.

“Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.” John noted.

Danielle nodded in agreement. “It was! I can see why you made yourself the only consulting detective. Bet the police love you for this!”

“That’s not what people normally say.” Sherlock mused, more to himself than to the others in the cab.

“Well what do normal people say?” Danielle asked.

Sherlock grinned. “ _ ‘Piss off’ _ !”

Danielle let out a bunch of giggles at that. 

The two men just grinned.

Danielle stopped herself before she laughed any louder. She doubted the two men would mind at this point, but she knew the cabbie must mind.  _ ‘No one pays attention to the cabbie. _ ’ She thought to herself.

She used to work retail before being a landlady, she remembered hating that no one had ever seen her as person rather than a talking nametag. She had a respect for retail workers after that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took too long. It’s hard to pick apart Sherlock’s brain. That’s what the title is, What Would Sherlock Do. I took Axis of Awesome song ‘What Would Jesus Do’ and rewrote it for Sherlock. Yep. That’s what I did instead of write this, I wrote a parody song of a parody song.
> 
> I got to see Wonder Woman. Dear God, my heaven will just be that movie on repeat for all of time.
> 
> The vacations were just what I needed, though. Just this month, I’ve published over 37k words, posted a Johnlock one-shot (Mischief Sleeps In My Bed), AND I’ve applied to a new college that’s much nicer than the old one.


	8. The Lady In Pink

The cab came to a stop not too far from the blinking police cars. This was the closest she’d been to a police car since she was sixteen and got a speeding ticket.

Danielle followed John out of the cab. 

Sherlock went up beside them, seemingly taking the lead. “Did I get anything wrong?” Sherlock asked.

“Harry and me don’t get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they’re getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker.” John reported.

Sherlock did this excellent impression of a pleased peacock. “Spot on, then. I didn’t expect to be right about everything.”

“And Harry’s short for Harriet.” John finished.

Sherlock stopped in the middle of the street. “Harry’s your sister.”

Danielle couldn’t help herself. His expression was priceless. She laughed.

“Look, what exactly are we supposed to be doing here?” John asked Sherlock.

Sherlock furiously, through gritted teeth “Sister!” He gave Danielle another glare. The redhead started snickering, like an imp. “And your mother!”

“No, seriously, what are we doing here?” John asked, indifferent to Sherlock’s mental collapse and Danielle’s giggles.

Sherlock huffed, with the exasperation of a long suffering man. “There’s always something.”

He walked off towards the police cars and yellow tape. Danielle followed alongside John. 

“Hello, freak.” A dark skinned female inspector  _ (with outrageous black curls, I mean really those had to be fake) _ greeted with false civility.

Danielle paused for a brief moment. What really surprised when Sherlock replied “I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

“Why?” The female inspector asked.

“I was invited.” Sherlock answered.

“Why?” The inspector insisted.

Sherlock turned to the woman with an air of sarcasm. “I think he wants me to take a look.”

“Well, you know what I think, don’t you?” The woman asked snidely.

“Always, Sally.” Sherlock replied, climbing under the police tape. He paused, taking a breath through his nose. “I even know you didn’t make it home last night.”

The woman seemed nervous at that. Danielle moved to pull up the police tape. “I don’t-” The woman stopped Danielle, and apparently John too. “Er, who’re they?”

“Colleagues of mine, Doctor Watson and Danielle Nolan.” Sherlock lied. Well  _ maybe _ it was a lie. Danielle couldn’t tell either way. “Doctor Watson, Miss Nolan, Sergeant Sally Donovan.” Sherlock looked at the woman with barely held back distaste.  _ “Old friend.” _

“Colleagues? How do _ you  _ get colleagues?” Donovan asked, obviously about to take the mickey out of him. “What, did he follow the two of you home?”

“Would it be better if I just waited and-”

“If it’s just us being a bother-”

Sherlock lifted the police tape. “No.” He made no outward sign of backing down.

Danielle thought it was a better idea to listen to Sherlock. It’d only gone a little wrong the last time she did. She went under the tape, standing beside Sherlock. She felt like a child in school, waiting in line behind the line leader, unable to move without the teacher’s stupid okay.

Unable to resist the sudden temptation, Danielle sniffed the air slightly, masking it as the frigid London air affecting her. She had wanted to find whatever could have possibly told Sherlock that Donovan made it home, but all Danielle could smell was the petrol on the road and cinnamon. 

“Freak’s here. Bringing him in.” Donovan reported into her radio. If Danielle had any chance of liking the woman before, it was gone now.

Donovan walked the three of them towards the house. Sherlock seemed to find something interesting about every step they took. He was moving his body this way and that, trying to notice everything and coming up with nothing. He stopped once a man came out from the building. Danielle thought he had a bit of horse face.

“Ah, Anderson. Here we are again.” Sherlock greeted.

The aforementioned Anderson watched Sherlock distastefully. “It’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?” He warned Sherlock.

Sherlock took in another deep breath. “Quite clear.” He emphasized each word in an almost child-coddling way. No, it was  _ exactly  _ in a child-coddling way. “And is your wife away for long?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.” Anderson sneered.

“Your deodorant told me that.” Sherlock stated.

“My deodorant?” Anderson asked, sounding surprised that Sherlock answered at all.

Danielle took a quick breath in. Nothing strange, just the same petrol, cinnamon, and some added disinfectant.

“It’s for men.” Sherlock whispered.

The other man certainly didn’t like that implication. “Well, of course it’s for men! I’m wearing it!”

“So’s Sergeant Donovan.”

John half smiled. And Danielle snickered, trying to hide it under her hand.

“Ooh, and I think it just vaporised.” Sherlock humiliated them just a little bit further. “May I go in?”

“Now look, whatever you’re trying to imply-” Anderson warned, anger rising.

Unfortunately Sherlock was faster. “I’m not implying anything. I’m sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over.” Danielle and John followed him, pausing when Sherlock made a dramatic turn back. His coat flew in the breeze at his rapid spin. “And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.”

Oh now that just made Danielle blush.

She went inside the building, pointedly avoiding looking at Donovan. Danielle  _ knew _ she’d end up looking at her knees, or worse making _ eye-contact _ . That would just set Danielle’s giggles off. She always did laugh at the worst of times...

She and John were guided into this big circular room. The man that came to Baker Street was there-Detective Lestrade.

Sherlock pointed down to a pile of blue suits. “You need to wear one of these.”

Danielle reached for one, hoping they were one size fits all. 

“Who’re they?” Detective Lestrade asked Sherlock.

Sherlock was taking off his winter gloves. “They’re with me.” He stated, as if that made all the difference.

“But who are they?” Lestrade stressed.

“I said,  _ they’re with me. _ ” He repeated.

Lestrade seemed to give up, this time.

“Aren’t you gonna put one on?” John asked Sherlock.

Danielle was stepping inside of her’s. She didn’t see the stern look Sherlock gave his new flatmate. She could feel it in the air though. Danielle tried fitting the blue plastic over her blue dress. She didn’t want it to look lumpy was she zipped up.

“So where are we?” Sherlock asked.

“Upstairs.” Lestrade answered.

 

==NKMHLY==

 

She had zipped up her blue scrub suit, and the additional white shoe covers. She was putting on a pair of latex gloves as she climbed behind Sherlock. 

“I can give you two minutes.” Lestrade instructed.

“May need longer.” Sherlock replied.

Lestrade didn’t argue. “Her name’s Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her.”

He walked them up the rest of the way. Danielle followed dutifully into an empty room.

Her first thought should’ve been something sad, she knew. She should’ve been thinking about how _ awful _ it was that this woman died. She saw John from the corner of her eye, face contorted in sadness. Danielle knew he was thinking about something sympathetic for the woman.

Danielle wasn’t. 

Her first thought had been _ ‘Oh god Umbridge died!’ _

Yeah. She knew it wasn’t what a normal person would've thought. 

She followed it up with  _ ‘poor Jennifer, dressing up like Umbridge and then dying.’ _

There was a long pause as the four of them stared.

It was broken by Sherlock’s stern “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Lestrade defended himself.

“You were thinking. It’s annoying.” Sherlock replied.

Danielle had to remind herself that telepaths didn’t exist. Then again, if they did, Sherlock would  _ totally  _ be a crappy one.

Danielle stared at the word  _ Rache _ scratched onto the floor. She hadn’t heard of it before, but it looked like she was trying to write  _ ‘Rachel’ _ . It wasn’t  _ her _ name. Maybe someone that died? It wasn’t her killer, Danielle doubted Jennifer knew her killer’s name.

She saw Sherlock check the woman’s pink coat. He pulled away his glove, rubbing his fingers together. He seemed to think something was off, because he pulled an umbrella out of the woman’s coat pocket. Danielle was momentarily jealous, as she could never fit an umbrella in any of her coats.

Sherlock checked the jewelry next. Danielle couldn’t see anything special about them. 

“Got anything?” Lestrade asked.

“Not much.” Sherlock answered, nonchalantly.

She noted Anderson arrived. He didn’t walk in, just leaned at the door. Danielle would have given more attention to him, but Sherlock pulled out his phone. 

“She’s German.” Anderson remarked from the doorway. It seemed to surprise the others in the room. Danielle wondered how Anderson had snuck up on the detective and consulting detective. “‘Rache’. It’s German for ‘revenge’. She could be trying to tell us something-”

“Yes, thank you for your input.” Sherlock slammed the door in his face.

Danielle hid a small smile.

“So she’s German.” Lestrade stated. It sounded on the edge of being a question.

“Of course she’s not. She’s from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night. Before returning home to Cardiff.” Sherlock reported, typing in on his phone. He was looking something up. Danielle peaked.  _ ‘Why was he looking at the weather report in Cardiff?’  _ He found what he wanted, stuffing it away. “So far, so obvious.”

“Sorry-obvious?” John asked, lost.

“What about the message, though?” Lestrade asked.

He disregarded the detective, turning to the doctor. “Doctor Watson, what do you think?”

John stared at Sherlock in confusion, turning to Lestrade for an answer. The detective didn’t have any. John turned back to Sherlock. “Of the message?”

“Of the body. You’re a medical man.” Sherlock clarified.

“Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside.” Lestrade argued, for the first real time that evening.

“They won’t work with me.” Sherlock countered.

_ ‘Certainly not that Anderson bloke.’ _ Danielle thought. 

“I’m breaking every rule letting you in here.” Lestrade reminded.

“Yes...because you need me.” Sherlock stated.

The official detective stared at Sherlock a long moment, before giving in. “Yes, I do. God help me.” He ran his hand through his thin hair. 

“Doctor Watson.” Sherlock prompted again.

“Hm?” John was still so very lost about all of this. Danielle would’ve thought it was funny if she wasn’t just as lost. The doctor looked over to Lestrade.

“Oh, do as he says. Help yourself.” Lestrade rose up to his feet. Danielle opened the door for him. He gave her a thankful look before walking out. “Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes.”

Sherlock and John knelt by the body. Danielle hesitated-she has been wearing a dress. It took her a second to realize she was covering it up, even then she stared at the body of Jennifer Wilson in hesitation. She wasn’t sure why she was so weirded out now, rather than with that body in the morgue. Was it because Danielle knew things about this woman, instead of the other? Was it because this was more public?

The young landlady stayed on the sidelines, just watching, even though she felt worse about staring at the body.

“Well?” Sherlock prompted.

“What am I doing here?” John asked, quietly.

“Helping me make a point.” Sherlock answered.

“I’m supposed to be helping you pay the rent.” John countered.

“Yeah, well, this is more fun.” Sherlock gave a small smile.

“Fun? There’s a woman lying dead.” John argued.

“Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go deeper.” Sherlock commented.

Lestrade came back in. Danielle jumped back a bit. Her moccasin clad feet nearly smacked into the dirty old wall. Danielle didn’t like the wall much, or most of the room. She felt like her scrubs were keeping the crime scene from contaminating  _ her _ , rather than vice versa. Based from what she remembered from the stairs, this room was the relatively cleanest. And that said a lot, considering the room had a rusted rocking horse in the corner. The kind a child would have used, ages ago.

_ ‘Why would someone have killed her in here?’ _ Danielle asked herself. 

“Yeah...Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can’t smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs.” John reported.

“You know what it was. You’ve read the papers.” Sherlock encouraged.

“What, she’s one of the suicides? The fourth...?” John looked up at Lestrade.

“Miss Nolan, what about you?” Sherlock spoke up, before Lestrade had the chance.

The young landlady was surprised she was being acknowledged. “Me?”

“What can you see?” Sherlock prompted.

“I’m not a doctor, or a detective.” Danielle tried to shift focus from herself. Why not ask the actual detective? Surely he knew something!

_ “Try.” _ He stressed, impatient.

“Alright!” She huffed. She looked down at the woman again, trying to think. There was something here she couldn’t...get to connect to her head. Something about this was wrong. They must’ve taken her purse, but if she’d come from Cardiff with only a purse...

“If she’s from that far out of town then she has to have a suitcase. I don’t see one, so they must’ve taken it, probably.” Danielle reasoned.

Sherlock’s eyes suddenly brightened. Lestrade would’ve thought it a trick of the light if it wasn’t for his widening smirk.

“Suitcase?” Lestrade asked. John was just as confused.

Danielle winced. If Lestrade questioned it, then maybe she was wrong. “Am I right?” She asked Sherlock. 

“Yes. Keep going.” Sherlock rolled his hand in impatience.

Lestrade looked at them in confusion.

“This place too. I don’t like it.” Danielle squinted at the dusty old wood, spots definitely covered in black mold. “If she came here just to kill herself like the papers said, then it’s gotta mean something to her-which I don’t think it is-or she didn’t chose this place.” Danielle felt herself smirk, more out of humor then pride. She pushed it down.  _ ‘Time and a place, Nolan.’  _ “If I wanted to kill myself, I’d choose someplace nicer. Especially if I had traveled all the way from London from Cardiff. What, did she look at the cabbie and say  _ ‘take me to the dirtiest abandoned place you know’ _ ?”

For one shining moment, Sherlock knew people in the room had brain cells.

“Sherlock-two minutes, I said. I need anything you’ve got.” Lestrade reminded.

“Victim is in her late thirties.” Sherlock rose up to his feet. John did as well, albeit slower. Danielle wanted to assist him, before remembering how he had shouted at Mrs Hudson for trying. “Professional person, going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase.”

Lestrade was only more confused by the second mention of a suitcase. “What suitcase?”

Danielle felt her cheeks color.

“She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.” Sherlock went on, ignoring the stares he was getting.

“Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re just making this up-” Lestrade began.

“Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside-that means it’s regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It’s not for work; look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.” Sherlock explained in a rush.

“That’s brilliant.” John spoke in awe.

“Awesome.” Danielle added, sounding just as in awe.

The consulting detective gave the two a look of _ ‘okay seriously stop doing that _ .

“Sorry.” John and Danielle replied.

“Cardiff?” The detective tried getting things back to a sort of professional investigation.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s not obvious to me.” John answered.

Danielle raised her hand. “I mean, I got it.” Sherlock gave her a questioning look, wondering if someone other than him could be right twice in one night. “But I cheated. You had the weather report on your phone, and I saw the umbrella.”

Sherlock scoffed, speaking at the other two. “Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.”

Danielle wasn’t sure if she was happy that she wasn’t scolded on the cheating. Was it really cheating if you took it from Sherlock? She would ponder on that later.

“Her coat, it’s slightly damp. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She’s turned it up against the wind. She’s got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it’s dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind-too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can’t have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?” He pulled his phone out, showing John and Lestrade the weather report on his phone. Sherlock noticed Danielle was trying to hide behind her hair. It wasn’t working. “Cardiff.”

“That’s fantastic!” John laughed.

“It’s genius.”

“D’you two know you do that out loud?”

That time John’s cheeks colored with Danielle’s. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

“Me too, yeah.” She bowed her head, hoping her hair would fall over her face.

“No, it’s...fine.” Sherlock replied. Slow. He had never told someone to  _ stop _ complimenting him before.

“Why d’you keep saying suitcase?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser.” Sherlock reasoned. “Find out who Rachel is.”

“She was writing  _ ‘Rachel’ _ ?” Lestrade asked. Danielle got the feeling he did that a lot around Sherlock.

The taller man stood in Lestrade’s face, nearly glaring his icy blue eyes at him. “No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?”

_ ‘It was her child.’ _ Danielle thought suddenly, eyes landing on the rocking horse again. She immediately dismissed the thought once she had it. You wouldn’t write your daughter’s name down in your dying moments unless she was your killer. Danielle doubted that, and doubted the daughter had committed the order suicides/murders before killing her mother.  _ ‘I mean, unless it was all some big test run before killing mum. That’d be smart. Well smart _ er _ , still stupid to kill her so far from home.’ _

Again, Danielle dismissed the thought of it being the daughter.

“How d’you know she had a suitcase?” Lestrade asked Sherlock, forgetting Danielle had said it first.

“Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don’t get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.” Sherlock explained.

John turned to Danielle. “How’d you know?” He asked.

The redhead tried to nonchalantly shrug. “If she came from Cardiff, she must’ve had a bag. No one comes to London from Cardiff for a pit stop.” She reasoned.

“Now, where is it? What have you done with it?” Sherlock asked Lestrade, cutting off the mini-conversation on the side.

“There wasn’t a case.” Lestrade answered.

Sherlock frowned. “Say that again.”

“There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.” Lestrade explained, frustrated with Sherlock now.

_ “Most women tend to notice when they leave their purse in a stranger’s car.” _ She suddenly remembered. If she took it at face value, it wasn’t relevant. If she thought about the suitcase, then it was.

Sherlock stood up straight. He made his way out the door. “Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?”

Danielle followed him out, walking down some of the stairs as Lestrade came behind her. “Sherlock, there was no case!”

“But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn’t miss them.” Sherlock stressed, walking down more stairs. Danielle followed.

“Right, yeah, thanks! And...?” Lestrade asked.

“It’s murder, all of them. I don’t know how, but they’re not suicides, they’re killings-serial killings.” Sherlock answered.

Danielle would’ve stopped in shock, but she wasn’t shocked. She had thought that was why they were called, because this one was a murder.  _ ‘Oh wait, Sherlock just said they were all murders, so I guess they really are lost.’ _

“We’ve got ourselves a serial killer.” Sherlock clapped his hands together, turning on the balls of his feet to face Danielle. “I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.”

And they were moving again.

Lestrade leaned over the railings. “Why are you saying that?”

“Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case.” He shouted up at them. He spoke softer next, as if only for him and Danielle. “So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.”

“She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there.” John called down.

Sherlock scoffed at that. “No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She’d never have left any hotel with her hair still looking-” He froze. “Oh. Oh!”

Danielle walked up to his other side. “Sherlock?” She asked, cautious. She His eyes widen and his face lights up.

“What is it, what?” Lestrade called down.

“Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.” Sherlock was smiling brightly. Danielle had no idea what he was talking about.

“We can’t just wait!” Lestrade shouted.

“Oh, we’re done waiting! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel!” Sherlock ran towards the door.

Danielle ran behind him. She briefly wondered about John, and when he was coming down.

“Of course, yeah-but what mistake?!” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock turned back, only to shout one word. “PINK!” He ran out.

Danielle, well, you can guess what she did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danielle is in Hufflepuff. I made her take the test. This is my third updated story this week, I’m going for six. (The stories left are Damaged Goods, Book of Life, and Night Mistress). I’m going to see Ragnarok on Thursday, and I want to know I have all of them updated!


	9. Our First Date

Danielle did  _ not _ do well with running. She was never a fast child, never saw much point to be fast really. She learned to accept a long time ago that some people were born to be runners, and others were walkers.

She thought that meant she’d never have to run again. How wrong she had been, how foolish. She’d chased Sherlock for blocks. The madman paused at the ends of many alleyways, before running off to the next one. A few times, Sherlock started rushing up fire escapes.

Yeah Danielle gave up when Sherlock went up the fire escapes.

When he came back down to Earth, Sherlock dragged Danielle to another alleyway.

“What’re we doin’ again?” Danielle asked, after deciding that to swear at Sherlock for dragging her around was useless right now. Better she save it for later. They’d been searching for nearly an hour, this was getting them nowhere.

He pointed at one of the nearby rubbish bins. Danielle thought it smelled like the rear end of a megabus.

“Search that bin.” Sherlock ordered.

“...what?”

Sherlock have her a look that said he did  _ not _ want to repeat himself.

“You are  _ so _ lucky I didn’t take off the scrubs!” Danielle snapped at him.

Sherlock only made an impatient face.

She marched over to the bin. She was grateful for her  _ none _ sandals as she climbed along the side opposite from Sherlock, using support from a tossed away case and the metal bin. 

She had a leg inside the trash when she glanced at Sherlock. The man hadn’t moved, still watching the trash as if it would run away and ruin his night. She could understand why he wasn’t coming over, he had on much nicer clothes than Danielle. Didn’t stop her from being annoyed. 

“Really? You’re not even gonna  _ pretend _ to help?” Danielle couldn’t help but snap. She was about to step in garbage alone. She had the right! 

“Why would I?” Sherlock asked. And Danielle knew he  _ genuinely _ meant it. 

“So I don’t feel like a complete idiot digging through the rubbish!” Danielle argued.

Sherlock tilted his head curiously.

Danielle huffed. She went back to digging. “Whatever. What am I lookin’ for, anyway?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

And he kept repeating that, every time Danielle asked him. 

It was thirty or something minutes later that Danielle was nearing the end of her rope. She’d searched through five giant rubbish bins- none of them having anything Sherlock would take in interest. She was pretty sure she’d stepped in someone’s upturned lunch. If not for the scrubs, she’d have ruined her shoes.

She was half convinced Sherlock was doing this as some obscure test. Would she be able to follow on other cases? Could she investigate like he could? Danielle doubted anyone -minus Umbrella Man- could think like Sherlock. What if it was just to test Danielle’s limit? How much garbage can a woman shift through before she gives up?

Well she wasn’t giving up. She asked Sherlock again what she was looking for, after he said no about someone’s lost shoe.

“I told you, and I abhor repetition. You will know-”

“Sherlock! I could use a bit more clues than _ ‘I’ll know it when I see it’! _ ” She snapped.

“You’re looking for her case.” Sherlock explained snippy, thinking Danielle were stupid for not understanding.

“Like, clues  _ for _ her case?”

“No. I mean her _ literal _ case. The suitcase. The killer would have disposed of it once realizing it was in his possession.”

A horrible idea popped up in Danielle’s mind. What made it worse was that she knew she’d be right. “You mean, like the pink one?”

Sherlock snapped his head towards her. “What ‘ _ pink one’ _ ?”

“The one from the first bin.” Danielle explained. She started climbing her way out. It was slippery in this bin, more than the others. Danielle wouldn’t let herself think of why. “It was kinda  _ beside _ the bin, I used it as a step-up.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” Sherlock was already starting to run towards that bin.

“I didn’t know what I was looking for!” Danielle called out. “Oi! Help me out of this!”

 

==NKMHLY==

 

Danielle hated being right.

They’d taken the suitcase from where it’d been hidden. It had one of Danielle’s messy footprints on the top (well she’d had to climb out of the bin!). Otherwise it was good evidence.

She’d come back to 221b after showering at her place. She had outright refused to shower in Sherlock’s flat after what happened earlier.

She changed her clothes while she was at home. Danielle was wearing a long sleeved black sweater shirt, and blue jeans. She was washing the previous outfit. 

As she came up the stairs to Sherlock’s flat, she was still drying her hair with one of her old t-shirts. Sherlock was lying out on the sofa, his right arm crossed over his chest. He didn’t react to her arrival. Danielle was fine with that. She walked over to the desk chair, sitting to face the fireplace.

Danielle curled her arms around her chest. She liked the material of the sweater.

She heard Sherlock let out a loud breath groan. Danielle tilted her head, squinting her eyes, confused about the noise.

She didn’t get long to think about it. John came in. 

He stopped at seeing Sherlock on the couch. “What is he doing?” John asked her, confused about his new flatmate’s behavior.

Danielle turned in her chair, staring at Sherlock. “No idea...he just started makin’ it.”

“What are you doing?” John asked Sherlock.

“Nicotine patch. Helps me think.” Sherlock answered. He showed off the three patches on his arm. “Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work.”

“It’s good news for breathing.” John remarked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, thinking them dull.  “Oh, breathing. Breathing’s boring.” He showed off more of the patches. He took deep breaths, the way the big bad wolf did before blowing down the straw house.

Danielle turned to John. “Okay I don’t know much but three patches is a lot, right?”

All he did was give her a look that said he agreed. It was equal parts sarcastic and disbelief towards Sherlock. 

“It’s a three-patch problem.” Sherlock clarified. He shut his eyes, leaning further into the couch. 

“Well?” John asked them after a pause. Danielle looked at him in confusion. “You asked me to come. I’m assuming it’s important.”

“Oh my god we left you there!” Danielle suddenly shouted. She shot up from her chair, walking up to John’s side. “I am  _ so  _ sorry! We didn’t mean it!”

John blinked, reeling back in surprise. He knew they hadn’t noticed. He  _ certainly  _ hadn’t expected an apology from Sherlock. Danielle, that he should’ve guessed. “No, it’s alright. I don’t think you could’ve said no to him.”

Danielle giggled. She still felt terrible. Her mind was already coming up with ways to make it up to the doctor. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?” Sherlock spoke up, finally alert to the rest of the room.

“My phone?” John asked. 

“Don’t wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It’s on the website.” Sherlock explained.

“Danielle’s got a phone.” John pointed out.

“I was changing my clothes because _ he _ made me dig through _ garbage _ .” Danielle glared annoyed at Sherlock. The detective merely rolled his eyes.

“Why did he make you dig through rubbish?” John asked, knowing he wasn’t gonna like the answer.

Danielle huffed angrily. She threw her arms up in the air, marching over to the kitchen. She couldn’t explain it to herself, much less to John. She started making herself a cuppa.

“Mrs Hudson?” John prompted.

“Yeah, she’s downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn’t hear.” Sherlock explained away. He sounded confused at the idea of someone not hearing his voice.

John huffed angrily. “I was the other side of London.”

“There was no hurry.” Sherlock excused.

John was glaring.

Danielle was wondering why there’s been rat feet near the tea boxes. She should’ve brought over tea bags from her flat. She wasn’t interested in tea that’d been near a rat’s foot (especially when the rat foot had been in the flat of Sherlock Holmes, meaning it was used for a Science thing).

“Here.” John handed Sherlock his phone.

While Sherlock was doing...whatever he was doing, Danielle came back empty handed.

John turned to her. “Are you alright?” He asked.

She put on a small smile. “You live here now, right?”

John nearly replied  _ ‘yes’ _ . His encounter just a few minutes ago gave him a small pause (and also that weird man with the umbrella). “...maybe.” John conceded.

“So you know you’re moving into a flat that puts rats feet next to the tea?” Danielle asked.  John turned to her. His face saying that  _ no _ , he did  _ not  _ know that. “Good! So I’m not the only one who thought it was odd!”

“That’s because it  _ is _ .” John remarked. He wondered how he’d been roped into having a conversation about why rat feet in the kitchen were odd.

Danielle nervously fidgeted with her hands. “Yeah...I’m not the best judge for what’s odd and what’s not.”

“Really?” John asked. “You seem decent enough.”

“I live  _ next _ to him, you live  _ with _ him. You’re not the best judge either.” Danielle pointed out.

John laughed. He had to give her that.

After the quick laugh, Danielle looked back to Sherlock. He was still holding the phone. His eyes were shut. To her, it looked like he’d fallen asleep when John put the phone in his hand.

“Why do you need John’s phone?” Danielle asked. “Or, any phone that can’t be traced back to you? It’s about the case, right?”

_ (That’s right. She knew about phone traces. She paid attention on those cop programs, thank you.) _

“Her case.” Sherlock replied, in a way that Danielle thought of as  _ sleepily _ .

“Her case?” John asked.

“Her suitcase, yes, obviously.” Sherlock replied. Because  _ obviously, _ that’s what this was about. “The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake.”

“Okay, he took her case. So?” John asked.

“It’s no use, there’s no other way. We’ll have to risk it.” Sherlock spoke, mainly to himself.

“On no, this is gonna be sad, isn’t it?” Danielle asked, also to herself.

“On my desk there’s a number. I want you to send a text.” Sherlock instructed. He didn’t specify who would text. It was inconsequential.

“You brought me here...to send a text.” John spoke with clenched teeth.

“Text, yes. The number on my desk.” Sherlock replied. It made sense that John would send it. Danielle was still in a fit about searching for the case.

Meanwhile, Danielle sat down in the comfy red chair. She watched as John snatched the phone from Sherlock’s hand. John didn’t go up to the table. Instead, he stared out the window.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock 

“Just met a friend of yours.” John casually mentioned.

“A friend?” Sherlock and Danielle asked in surprise and confusion. The redhead instantly went red as her hair. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it like _ that _ .”

“An enemy.” John corrected.

Danielle felt a glimmer of recognition. 

“Oh. Which one?” Sherlock asked.

“Your arch-enemy, according to him.” John replied. “Do people have arch-enemies?”

“Oh my god. You met Mister Poppins and I was not supposed to call him that out loud!” Danielle gasped. “I called him that because of the umbrella!”

Sherlock and John turned to her in surprise. John, he was surprised that someone else had seen him, which meant there was something seriously wrong with this bloke. Sherlock was more surprised that the man thought Danielle was worth speaking with.

“You saw him?” John asked.

“Yeah!” Danielle leaned forward in her chair. “He said I was a- you know, I’m thinking you know what he said.

“Did he offer either of you money to spy on me?” Sherlock asked, suddenly, though with no change in his tone.

“Yes.” John and Danielle replied.

“Did you take it?” Sherlock asked.

“No.” John and Danielle replied.

“Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time.” Sherlock reprimanded them.

John grinned at the statement. Danielle had to admit, it would’ve been cute if she didn’t suddenly feel angry.

“He brought me to an abandoned building and offered me money! Why would I have taken it from him?” Danielle asked, incredulous. “He made me sound like someone who would do anything for money!”

Sherlock smirked at her comment. He dropped it, not quick enough for Danielle to miss it. “He loves butting his nose into my affairs.”

“Who is he?” John asked what he thought was the bigger issue.

“The most dangerous man you’ve ever met, and not my problem right now.” Sherlock replied, still keeping an air of mystery.

It worried Danielle. Just how bad was the bloke if Sherlock wouldn’t even say his name? Was he like some kid of non-wizard Voldemort? Danielle’s eyes widened as she thought- _ what if he _ was _ Voldemort. _ She’d been propositioned by Voldemort!

“On my desk, the number.” Sherlock ordered at John. Danielle was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to pay it any mind.

John looked from Danielle to Sherlock. The redhead was obviously disturbed by _ ‘Mr Poppin’s’ _ offer of money. John remembered what that man had said to him, about the dangers of being so closely involved with Sherlock. No doubt Danielle was given a similar warning. John was used to the danger of war, of everything that came with it. He’d been trained for battle. Danielle never did. No wonder she was so rattled.

As for Sherlock, John didn’t know what to think. He turned to pick up the slip of paper. Beneath it was a luggage tag. Now, being human, John couldn’t help but look at it.

“ _ Jennifer Wilson _ .” John read off. “That was...Hang on. Wasn’t that the dead woman?”

“Yeah. I dug it out from the rubbish bin.” Danielle replied, offhandedly.

John turned to her with wide eyes. “That’s what he-”

“Yes. That’s not important. Just enter the number.” Sherlock interrupted them. “Are you doing it?”

“Yes.” John sighed, typing away.

“Have you done it?” Sherlock asked, eternally impatient.

“Ye...hang on!” John snapped.

“These words exactly.  _ ‘What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.’ _ ” Sherlock instructed. He had noticed John’s tone. He didn’t think it was the time to point out John’s rude behavior. “ _ ‘Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.’ _ ”

“You blacked out?” John asked, halfway through the text.

Danielle sat up. “He can’t have! ...right?”

“What?” Sherlock sat up, wondering how’d they gotten so lost. “No. No!” Sherlock jumped up to his feet. Not in that pedestrian way, he really _ jumped _ . Over the table, in fact. He went up towards John’s face, ignoring John and Danielle’s worried expressions. “Type and send it. Quickly.”

Danielle watched as an indignant Sherlock marched off to the kitchen. She wanted to huff at his dodging of the question. She turned to John, who was still hopelessly confused.

“He didn’t pass out. I was with him the whole time. The closest he got to passing out was-” _ ‘When I almost beat him up with that case’ _ But Danielle didn’t want to say that. It sounded too violent, and it might confuse John more. “-the stench.”

Of course, it was for nothing, because John was still confused. If anything she’d made it  _ worse _ .

Sherlock came back. He yanked out a chair from his cluttered desk, throwing the suitcase down on it. “Have you sent it?” Sherlock asked John.

“What’s the address?” John asked. Danielle was just staring at the consulting detective. 

“Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!” Sherlock snapped.

“Don’t rush him.” Danielle argued weakly.

John sent the message. He looked up at Sherlock to confirm, before seeing the pink case that Sherlock had just opened.

Danielle was pretty sure she was breaking four rules of the Girl Code by letting Sherlock do that.

“That’s...that’s the pink lady’s case. That’s Jennifer Wilson’s case.” John remarked.

“Yes, obviously.” Sherlock replied.

John glanced over to Danielle. She had only just realized how  _ bad  _ this looked.

Sherlock must’ve come to the same conclusion. No doubt faster than her. “Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn’t kill her.”

“I never said you did.” John pointed out carefully, still staring at the case.

“Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it’s a perfectly logical assumption.” Sherlock asked.

“Do people usually assume you’re the murderer?” John asked.

“Now and then, yes.” Sherlock smirked up at John.

Danielle had blinked, in the time that conversation had gone on. “That’s...not surprising.” She commented when there was a lull in comments.

Sherlock had moved while she did that. He was perched on his chair, sitting on the back of it while his feet were holding him steady. He had his elbows resting on his knees. His hands were folded in front of his face. Danielle thought it was a cute position.

She realized John was standing. Her senses came to her, or she liked to believe that’s what happened to her manners. She got up off the red chair. “Here John, you take it.”

“No, I don’t need-”

“Please. I insist!” Danielle took the black couch, not giving John a choice but to accept the chair.

With a resigned yet thankful huff, John took the comfy red chair. Danielle rather liked the couch now. It was a good trade.

“How  _ did _ you get this?” John asked, motioning to the case with his cane.

“We dug it out from the rubbish.” Danielle supplied. She laid herself down on the couch. She had to adjust her sweater when she settled, it had ridden up her back.

“The rubbish? Why was it there?” John asked.

“The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens.” Sherlock began.

_ ‘Good thing he’s telling it, I’ve already forgotten where it was.’  _ Danielle couldn’t help the small giggle that came out.  _ ‘I blame the rubbish.’ _

“He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention-particularly a man, which is statistically more likely-so obviously he’d feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every backstreet wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens, and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip.” Sherlock finished with a proud smirk.

“No, it took you twenty minutes to find it.” Danielle corrected. Sherlock turned to her with an eyebrow raised. Danielle read it as: _ ‘why am I being corrected by a girl who needs three calendars?’ _ “Because I didn’t know what to look for, the first time around. We searched more of the rubbish bins than we needed to. By the time I’d realized it, we’d been searching an hour. You had it right at the first bin.”

Sherlock was certain she was complimenting him, praising his skills. It didn’t take away from the fact it had taken an entire hour for what should have been a simple task. 

“Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?” John spoke up, because that’s the thing that stuck out in that entire thing that had just happened.

Sherlock looked at him in surprise, complete with a head tilt. Danielle noted it made his curls bounce on his head. “Well, it had to be pink, obviously.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” John murmured, snarky. Danielle giggled.

“Because you’re an idiot.” Sherlock replied. Danielle laughed at John’s expression. “No, no, no, don’t look like that. Practically everyone is.”

“Oi!” Danielle snapped.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. There was no pleasing the public. “Now, look. Do you see what’s missing?” He asked them.

“From the case? How could I?” John asked, sarcastic.

“Her bra?” Danielle guessed.

“She was  _ wearing _ it.” Sherlock corrected.

“She could have a second one.” Danielle pointed out.

“No. How does a missing _ second _ bra help us find who did this?” Sherlock asked Danielle.

She shrugged, suddenly embarrassed by her answer. “I don’t know.”

“It’s her phone. Where’s her mobile phone?” Sherlock answered his own question. He continued to speak in a rapid pace, explaining to them with a know-it-all tone. “There was no phone on the body, there’s no phone in the case. We know she had one-that’s her number there; you just texted it.”

“Hold on, what?” Danielle asked.

“Maybe she left it at home.” John reasoned, not having heard Danielle. 

Sherlock adjusted himself to a more normal position in the chair. “She has a string of lovers and she’s careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home.”

“No, wait go back.” Danielle asked. She sat up normal on the couch. She leaned forward. “What do you mean _ ‘John just texted it’ _ ?”

John startled. He looked down to his phone, which had been almost suspiciously silent.

“Why did John text a dead woman’s phone?” Danielle asked.

“Well, the question is: where is her phone now?” Sherlock corrected.

“Oh bloody hell.” Danielle sighed. She fell back on the couch, running her hand over her face. “You didn’t. We didn’t.”

_ ‘She could cross texting a murderer off her bucket list. She’d seen it on the tell, always wanted to try it. She was regretting it now.’ _

“She could have lost it.” John caught on to Danielle and Sherlock’s train of thought.

“Yes, or...?” Sherlock dragged off.

“You think the murderer has the phone?” John replied.

“Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone.” Sherlock clarified.

“Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?” John asked, loudly.

“We just texted a murderer. There’s not much _ ‘good’ _ right now.” Danielle answered.

“Yeah I caught that!” John replied.

Right after, the phone rang. John and Danielle stared at it, as if the murderer would pop out of the phone like some kind of bizarro Freddy Krueger nightmare.

“A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they’d ignore a text like that, but the murderer...” Sherlock  paused. He turned to the phone, dramatically. Danielle wanted to hit him with it. “...would panic.”

He slapped the lid closed. Danielle jumped back. She’d always fallen for jump scares. 

By the time she had calmed down, Sherlock had buttoned his jacket back up. 

“Have you talked to the police?” John asked.

“Four people are dead. There isn’t time to talk to the police.” That meant  _ ‘no I was too busy being clever’. _

“So why are you talking to us?” John asked.

“Fair question.” Danielle held up her hand. “We’re both idiots. What good are we?”

“Mrs Hudson took my skull.” Sherlock remarked. He threw on his big coat.

“Not the skull!” Danielle let out a sigh of upset. She’d liked that skull. It tied the room together.

“So I’m basically filling in for your skull?” John asked.

“Relax, you’re doing fine.” Sherlock assured in a not-at-all assuring way.

“So that means I’m Skull #2?” Danielle asked. She got up to her feet, adjusting her sweater as she did.

“You’re doing fine too.” Sherlock turned to John, who was still in his chair. “Well?”

“Well what?” John asked.

“Well, you could just sit there and watch telly.” Sherlock scrunched up his face in disgust.

“What, you want me to come with the two of you?” John asked, skeptical.

“I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so...” Sherlock 

“Danielle can do that just fine.” John pointed out.

“He wants two people, like a bigger audience.” Danielle realized with a laugh. John smiled, small. It fell too quick to have been true.

“Problem?” Sherlock asked the two of them. He was tying on his scarf.

“Yeah, Sergeant Donovan.” John answered.

The consulting detective soured at the mention of her. Danielle blushed, remembering Sherlock’s early remarks to the woman. “What about her?” Sherlock asked.

“She said...You get off on this. You enjoy it.” John explained.

Sherlock smirked himself. “And I said ‘dangerous’, and here you lot are.”

He turned on his toe out the door.

Danielle clicked her tongue. “Damn...that’s a good point.” She followed behind him.

John followed them barely ten seconds later. Danielle heard him swearing to himself the entire time he struggled to be caught up.

 

==NKMHLY==

 

They were outside. Danielle embraced the cold like an old friend. She walked alongside Sherlock, closer to the road. 

“Where are we going?” John asked.

Danielle knew the answer. Sherlock just beat her to it. “Northumberland Street’s a five-minute walk from here.”

“You think he’s stupid enough to go there?” John asked,

“No-I think he’s brilliant enough.” Sherlock spoke in awe. “I love the brilliant ones. They’re always so desperate to get caught.”

“Why’d they want to get caught?” Danielle asked. “Isn’t the whole point of all of this cloak and dagger stuff so they  _ don’t  _ get caught?”

“Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That’s the frailty of genius, Danielle, it needs an audience.” Sherlock explained.

Danielle and John shared a grin with each other. 

“Yeah.” John agreed. Danielle laughed.

“This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything.” Sherlock went off on another long speech. “Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go. Think! Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?”

“Dunno. Who?” John asked.

“Haven’t the faintest. Hungry?” Sherlock changed topics so fast Danielle spun on her feet.

He guided them to a nearby restaurant. Danielle perked when she saw it was Italian. She would have to come back here, someday. She loved Italian food.

The waiter showed them the table near the door. Sherlock thanked the man, before taking his seat. Danielle took the corner seat. She rather liked the corner seat, more cushion room. John sat at the end.

“Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it.” Sherlock instructed them.

John took off his coat. Danielle kept her sweater on. She’d not won a second layer.

“He isn’t just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He’d need to be mad.” John pointed out.

“He  _ has _ killed four people.” Sherlock reminded.

“...Okay.” John couldn’t argue with that.

Danielle giggled at the two of them. “So, while we wait, what do we get to eat?”

“How can you think of food right now?” John asked.

Danielle shrugged. “I’m guessing Sherlock is paying. I love Italian. I’m not letting this chance pass up. Besides, with traffic the way it is, there’s a good chance he won’t be here for ages.”

_ ‘Great,’ _ John realized, _ ‘they’re both insane.’ _

Sherlock, meanwhile, thought she had something resembling a point.

Best move on.

A man walked up to the table. Danielle liked his sweater (those her’s was better, let’s be fair). 

“Sherlock.” The man praised. Then Sherlock did something that nearly killed Danielle. _ Je shook the man’s hand _ with a _ smile _ “Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and for your dates.” He handed out menus.

Danielle lifted her’s in delight.

“Do you want to eat?” Sherlock asked them, nonchalant.

“Yes! I’m starved- Wait what?” Danielle blinked.

The doctor had understood faster than Danielle had. “I’m not his date.” John corrected the man.

“I...Uh.” Danielle swallowed nervously. She  _ did _ fancy the man, that didn’t mean this was a date! They were on an investigation! “Not his date either! Or John’s. Neither of them. Why, why would you say?”

“This man got me off a murder charge.” The man was ignoring both of them. Or, maybe he was selling Sherlock. Danielle would be wondering about it for  _ days _ .

“This is Angelo.” Sherlock introduced.

The man, Angelo, shook hands with John. Danielle did as well.

“Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking.” Sherlock explained.

“He cleared my name.” Angelo explained to them, a giddy smile on his face.

“I cleared it a  _ bit _ .” Sherlock argued. “Anything happening opposite?”

“Nothing.” Angelo replied, as if he knew what to be looking for. _ ‘He probably does.’ _ Danielle thought.  _ ‘He’d probably have known to look for that pink suitcase.’ _ “But for this man, I’d have gone to prison.”

Her eyes went wide, her smile did to match. “Oh my.” Danielle murmured to herself. _ ‘Sherlock. You get the interesting ones, don’t you? Lucky.’ _

“You  _ did  _ go to prison.” Sherlock reminded the chef.

“I’ll get a candle for the table.” Angelo replied. Danielle had the sudden reminder of her grandparents, those circular conversations she’d have with them where they seemed to be having a different conversation alongside her’s. “It’s more romantic.” He told John and Danielle.

Her cheeks went pink as her hair.

“I’m not his date! Or her’s!” John called after Angelo.

“Not their date either!” Danielle mumbled into her menu.

“Danielle was right earlier. You may as well eat. We might have a long wait.” Sherlock remarked.

The landlady wasn’t sure why the little bit of praise had her sitting up straighter. Or why she stuck her tongue out at John, like a petulant child. It got the doctor to smile though.

Not long after that, Angelo came back with the candle.

“Thanks.” John mumbled. Danielle giggled again at his pout.

 

==NKMHLY==

 

Danielle would kill for Angelo.

Honest to God. She’d kill anyone the man told her to kill. She wouldn’t even questions it. Just a quick murder for Angelo, not even looking at the person’s face. It could be John, or one of her relatives. They’d have to die for Angelo.

The man was a culinary _ genius _ . She was halfway through her bowl of spaghetti, which she swore was full just a minute ago.

Maybe she was rushing, falling in love so fast because the food was so close to Baker Street. Danielle didn’t care. The food was too good.

_ ‘This is why I was Sorted in Hufflepuff _ .’ Danielle mused, having another forkful of spaghetti. _ ‘Damn. Now I’m thinking about the Hogwarts kitchen! ...and now I want a cookie.’ _

John was eating his own food. Sherlock hadn’t ordered anything. Danielle remember he didn’t eat much. That, or he could come over whenever he wanted for something. Maybe he just wasn’t hungry?

_ ‘A man that thin? He’s hungry.’ _ Danielle mused to herself.

“People don’t have arch-enemies.” John remarked suddenly.

It had taken the other patrons at the table a moment to realize John had spoke.

“Hmm?” Danielle hummed.

“I’m sorry?” Sherlock asked.

“In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn’t happen.” John clarified.

Danielle slurped down the spaghetti on her fork, hearing her mother’s distant cry of anguish at the lack of manners.

“Doesn’t it? Sounds a bit dull.” Sherlock remarked.

_ ‘You think this is real life?’  _ Danielle thought. She wiped at her mouth with a napkin.  _ ‘No wonder you’re bonkers. There was a skull on the mantle. I saw an animal head wearing headphones. There’s no way I’m not in a coma somewhere, dreaming up this whole thing.’ _

“So who did Danielle and I meet?” John asked

_ ‘And Umbrella Man! How was he not a creature created from my own messed up subconscious?’ _ Danielle pondered.

“What do real people have, then, in their ‘real lives’?” Sherlock asked.

Danielle leaned forward. She was curious herself.

“Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don’t like...Girlfriends, boyfriends...” John looked down, embarrassed.

“Yes, well, as I was saying-dull.” Sherlock replied.

“You don’t have a girlfriend, then?” John asked.

Danielle blushed. She nearly cleared out her throat to get John’s attention. Never mind that _ she _ could have an opinion on the subject.

“Girlfriend? No, not really my area.” Sherlock shrugged.

_ ‘Molly certainly agrees with you.’ _

_ ‘Oh, bad Danielle. The ship’s not sunk until it’s too late.’ _

“Mm.” John hummed. “Oh, right. D’you have a boyfriend?”

Danielle wondered how fast a car would need to go before it could successfully kill her.

“Which is fine, by the way.” John assured them both. He didn’t want Danielle thinking he wasn’t...yeah. 

“I know it’s fine.” Sherlock stated, not answering the question.

“So you’ve got a boyfriend then?” John asked, carefully.

“No.” Sherlock replied.

Danielle hated being in the corner seat.

“Right. Okay. You’re unattached. Like me.” John mused out loud.

“I don’t have a girlfriend either.” Danielle suddenly spoke up. “Would’ve, if that girl I asked in uni said yes. A boyfriend too, two at least. They never said yes. Well I never asked. That’s important right?”

Neither man answered.

Danielle was doing math on the car thing. She was fairly certain that taxi outside could do it with enough time. It’d take a few tries, they’d get it right.

“John, Danielle, um...I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interests, I’m really not looking for any...” Apparently not even Sherlock could handle this line on conversation. Danielle knew that was a sign of how humiliating this whole thing was.

“No.” John cleared his throat. “No, I’m not asking. No. I’m just saying, it’s all fine.” John stressed.

“It _ is _ fine.” Danielle agreed, voice sure. She was still confused about what the last bit had been about. “You were just asking if- _ oh _ .” She hated when she was smart too late. “Oh-kay. Now I get it.” She took a bite of her spaghetti.

‘ _ Maybe she’d choke on it. That’d be nice.’ _

There was a long silence. Danielle hadn’t choked on her spaghetti, unfortunately.

“Good. Thank you.” Sherlock spoke up, taking away the silence. He looked out the window.

Danielle ducked down so far she could feel the heat of the noodles against her nose.

“Look across the street. Taxi.” Sherlock instructed.

Danielle glanced over at it, knowing that because she was so low she’d get hair in her spaghetti.

“Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out.” Sherlock reported. “Why a taxi?” Sherlock asked, though clearly to himself. “Oh, that’s clever. Is it clever? _ Why _ is it clever?” 

“That’s him?” John asked.

“Don’t stare.” Sherlock snapped. Danielle’s head snapped back to where it was.

“You’re staring.” John excused.

“We can’t  _ all _ stare.” Sherlock instructed. Danielle nearly threw her hands up in the air.

Then, Sherlock got up to run off.

Danielle’d had  _ enough _ of running after Sherlock for the night.

What’s really sad, is she believed that, even after she and John got up to their feet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey. I’m not dead. I’m just...stressed. There was two new jobs between these chapters. I volunteer one half the week, and worked at Cracker Barrel the other half. My classes have come and gone.
> 
> For news on my updates, go to: authora97writingupdates, the tumblr blog. I keep it as up-to-date as I can on how my writing is going. Plus I add writing advice for other authors out there.


	10. We've Got A Runner

John ran out the door first. Danielle noticed Angelo smiling at the three of them as they ran. She turned to him, as she swung the door open.

“Yeah could you hold my food for me? I’ll be back for it!” Danielle called.

“Anything for dates of Sherlock’s!” Angelo replied.

Danielle didn’t reply. To be honest, she ran off as soon as she finished speaking.

Now, Danielle knew she wasn’t a fast runner. Sherlock and John were already ways ahead of her. She remembered an important thing about running was to pace yourself.

Unfortunately as she realized this, Sherlock and John had run off a long ways. If there was one thing she hated more than running, it was having to run faster than someone else.

She braced herself, then started running.

 

==NKMYHLY==

 

Yeah that plan worked for about two blocks.

“This was such a bad life decision.” Danielle mumbled to herself, still running.

She could make out Sherlock’s head of hair in the distance. His hair was so distinctive she could make it out from space.

If she squinted, she could see John behind Sherlock. Despite what the cane implied John was good on his feet.

She kept running though. She pushed herself fast enough to see which way Sherlock and John were going. 

They stopped at one point. Danielle was relieved. She managed to catch up to them at that point. John was standing idle, Sherlock had his fingers on his forehead. He was muttering rapidly under his breath.

“Hey.” She panted. “Woo. You two are fast-”

John moved to put a hand on Danielle’s back when Sherlock stood up straight. He began running down the road.

Danielle swore before she and John followed after him.

Sherlock bumped into a man as he ran inside a building. The man yelled in protest.

“Sorry!” John and Danielle called over their shoulders before following Sherlock.

The three raced up the stairways. Danielle was cursing every decision she made before following these two. 

As they were running up another set of stairs, Sherlock called down to them. “Come on, John, Danielle!”

Danielle huffed, pulling herself behind John. “The next...body..they’ll find...is  _ his _ ...if he tells us to ‘ _ hurry’ _ again.” Danielle warned.

John laughed in agreement.

The two ran faster after Sherlock.

He was racing over the roof. He ran to a ledge, jumping across the divide to the other side.

Danielle’s eyes widened when she saw that. Because not only did it look majestic as fuck, but she had to do it next. 

_ ‘I can jump that far.’  _ She told herself. _ ‘Probably. Maybe. Don’t psyche yourself out!’ _

She saw John facing a similar dilemma. She decided to take a running start before leaping. After checking to make sure she wouldn’t hit anything on her run, Danielle moved back. Sherlock was getting further ahead of them.

“Come on, John, Danielle! We’re losing him!” Sherlock called out to them.

Well now Danielle had to make the jump. So she could kill Sherlock.

She ran.

She jumped.

She _ (somehow) _ didn’t die.

When John landed, the three went back to running.

There was a lot of sharp turns into alleyways. Sherlock seemed to be running on some kind of mental GPS- because Danielle had no idea where they were going or how he was keeping track of it all.

As they ran to the end of one alleyway, Danielle could see a cab driving past.

“Ah, no!” Sherlock huffed in a fit of anger. He turned right out the alleyway. Danielle followed him. “This way.” Sherlock called back to them

“I’m  _ going  _ this way!”

“Not you!” Sherlock snapped at Danielle. “No, this way!” Sherlock called back to John.

“Sorry.” John replied. He had turned left.

Danielle hummed. “Oh. That makes sense.”

The three continued running. After the third or fourth turn she gave up counting. It was too much work to think about where- only following the man who seemed to know where they were headed. Danielle was starting to get annoyed by all the chasing. 

Just when Danielle thought they would be running for ever, Sherlock ran out into the road. In the path of oncoming traffic. Including a taxi that Danielle thought was familiar.

Sherlock bounced onto his feet by the time Danielle ran up. “Police! Open her up!” He ordered the taxi.

He walked to the passenger door. Danielle followed. John-last but not least- came up in time for the door to be swung open.

Sherlock huffed. “No.” He glanced at the man again. “Teeth, tan: what-Californian? L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived.”

“How can you possibly know that?” John asked.

“The luggage.” Sherlock pointed down to the luggage by the man’s feet. “It’s probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?”

“Sorry-are you guys the police?” The man replied.

“Yeah.” Sherlock held up an ID. Danielle wasn’t surprised the police gave him a badge- judging by how often he helped. “Everything all right?”

The American grinned. “Yeah.”

Danielle decided it. Americans were a weird bunch.

Sherlock- after a pause- smiled too kindly to be real. “Welcome to London.” He stormed off.

John leaned in to the passenger. “Er, any problems, just let us know.” He closed the door.

Danielle turned to the cabbie. “Sorry for the interruption.” She apologized.

The cabbie- an older man who was showing too much teeth in his grin- waved it off. “No problem, love, happens to the best of us.”

Danielle smiled back. The taxi drove off. She went back to John and Sherlock. They were arguing again. Danielle was content to stand, and just not run anymore.

“Basically just a cab that happened to slow down.” John mused.

“Basically.” Sherlock shrugged.

“Not the murderer.” John guessed.

“Not the murderer, no.” Sherlock huffed.

“Wrong country, good alibi.” John carried on.

“As they go.” Sherlock sighed. He was looking around the street, no doubt wondering what he’d missed.

“Hey, where-where did you get this? Here.” John reached for the ID.

“It’s a police badge...for...for helping the police.” Danielle reasoned.

John sucked in his lips. “Right.” He looked at Sherlock. “Detective Inspector Lestrade?”

“Okay I was wrong.” Danielle huffed.

“Yeah. I pickpocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that one, I’ve got plenty at the flat.” Sherlock explained plainly.

John nodded. Danielle was surprised that she wasn’t surprised. At the same time, they both started giggling.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing, just.  _ Welcome to London. _ ” John admitted.

Sherlock chuckled with them. He paused to see the cab. 

Danielle looked with him. The passenger was pointing over at the three of them. 

“Got your breath back?” Sherlock asked them.

“Just did, right now.” Danielle agreed.

“Ready when you are.” John added.

Once more, the three ran off. This time in the direction of home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Sorry this took so long. Working 50+ hours a week, school, two hurricanes, and other stories kept this one off my mind. Forced myself to sit down and listen to Danielle! She had a lot more to say.


	12. Drugs Bust

Danielle had never been more happy to be at Baker Street.

She followed Sherlock and John into their flats. They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, catching their breath. Danielle was using it all up again laughing.

“Okay, that was ridiculous.” John remarked. He relaxed on the wall beside Danielle. “That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”

“And you invaded Afghanistan.”

And for some reason, that was the funniest thing Danielle had ever heard. She giggled, clutching her stomach as she laughed harder. Sherlock laughed too, which echoed by John was the most beautiful sound

“That wasn’t just me.” John excused, which made Sherlock and Danielle giggle.

“Stop it.” Danielle wheezed. “Stop making me laugh. I pulled a muscle of something running. If I laugh anymore I think I’ll die.”

The two men laughed again.

“Why aren’t we back at the restaurant?” He asked, catching his breath.

Sherlock waved his hand. “Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway.”

“So what were we doing there?” John asked.

“Because we’re tired and I’m done with runnin’?” Danielle voted. John laughed at her remark, probably thinking it was a joke. Or maybe too hopeful a dream.

Sherlock laughed too, covering it up as clearing his throat. “Oh, just passing the time.” He smirked at John and Danielle, more pointedly at John she noticed. “And proving a point.”

“What point?” John asked. Danielle held up a finger in agreement, pointing it at John.

“You.” Sherlock answered. Because he was clearly impossible at giving a straight answer. He turned to Mrs Hudson’s flat door. “Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson  _ will _ take the room upstairs.”

“Says who?” John asked.

“Says the man at the door.” Sherlock answered cryptically.

Like the heroine in a horror movie who just  _ knows _ the killer is behind her with a knife, Danielle turned to the door.

A man knocked.

“That was weird. John tell me that was weird.” Danielle asked.

“It was.” John agreed. John stared at Sherlock in surprise.

Sherlock was no doubt grinning smugly.

John walked up to it- where he found the energy, Danielle didn’t know, the man must be some kind of mythological creature. He opened the door to reveal Angelo.

Sherlock rested again the wall. He let out a long breath. Danielle finally felt like she could breath normally.

“Sherlock texted me.” Angelo revealed. He held up the items in his hands. John’s walking cane, and a takeaway bag. “He said you forgot this.”

John and Danielle gawked. Danielle walked over to Angelo, accepting the takeaway bag.

John took his cane. “Ah.” 

The two turned back to Sherlock who indeed was grinning like a smug son of a bitch.

“Thank you, Angelo.” Danielle remembered to say.

It prompted John to mutter his thanks. “Er, thank you. Thank you.”

Angelo smiled kindly at Danielle and John.

Once the door was shut, Mrs Hudson stepped out of her flat. Her expression was full of upset. “Sherlock, what have you done?” Mrs Hudson asked, sounding on the verge of crying.

Danielle almost wanted to hug her. Was it okay to hug someone about to cry? Or should she wait until the hugs weren’t so...cry-y? Then again Danielle disliked hugs so maybe a reassuring shoulder pat?

“Mrs Hudson?” Sherlock asked.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright? Do you need something- tea, biscuits, your programs?” Danielle rambled.

Mrs Hudson refused to answer. “Upstairs.” She replied.

Sherlock dashed up the stairs. Danielle- with a firm hold on the takeaway bag- dashed after him. 

Once they made it upstairs, Danielle saw the detective inspector Lestrade sitting in Sherlock’s chair. The room was full of other policemen, searching the shelves.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock demanded, annoyed at the Inspector.

“Well, I knew you’d find the case. I’m not stupid.” The Inspector explained.

“You can’t just break into my flat.” Sherlock argued.

“And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t break into your flat.” Lestrade pointed out.

“Well, what do you call this then?” Sherlock waved his hand to his tossed over flat.

Lestrade looked around the flat. “It’s a drugs bust.” Lestrade answered, innocently.

Danielle’s eyes widened.

“Seriously?!” John laughed loudly. “This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!”

Danielle scoffed too, laughing. Until she saw Sherlock’s face. And he wasn’t laughing. It was almost like a  _ ‘dammit I LIKED these ones, Lestrade!’ _

“John. Danielle.” Sherlock spoke softly.

“I’m pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn’t find anything you could call recreational.” John continued on.

Danielle’s face fell when Sherlock came up to John’s side. “John, you probably want to shut up now.” He implored.

John scoffed again, grinning like this was all a big prank. “Yeah, but come on.” He replied. Sherlock held his gaze for a long moment. Then John knew. “No.”

“What?”

“ _ You? _ ”

“Well he is  _ really _ thin-”

“Shut up!” Sherlock snapped at the both of them. He whirled around to Lestrade. “I’m not your sniffer dog.”

“No,  _ Anderson’s  _ my sniffer dog.” Lestrade corrected. He bobbed his head to the kitchen.

Danielle remembered she had been holding food- probably a good idea to put it in the kitchen. She changed her mind purely because it was Sherlock’s fridge. She’d seen the rats feet from earlier, who knows what science-y stuff he had in his fridge? Danielle lowered the takeaway bag onto the table beneath the headphone wearing head.

“What, An-” Sherlock looked to the kitchen. Sure enough Anderson waved his hand at them, a smug look on his face. “Anderson, what are you doing here on a  _ drugs bust _ ?”

“Oh, I volunteered.” Anderson admitted too happily to be considered nice. Danielle wanted to shake her head at him.

“They all did.” Whelp Danielle gave up on finding a nice person in this flat beside herself and John. “They’re not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they’re very keen.”

Danielle leaned over to John. “So all these people went _ willingly _ into Sherlock’s flat? And I’m just supposed to believe they didn’t expect a murder house?”

John laughed, covering it up when a nearby officer sent a confused look there way. Danielle laughed too.

The female detective came up. She held up a jar that looked like it was for a pickles. “Are these human eyes?”

Danielle was right. Sherlock  _ did _ have other weird science stuff in his kitchen!

“Put those back!” Sherlock demanded.

“They were in the microwave!” Donovan argued.

“It’s an experiment.” Sherlock excused, implying she was an idiot for not putting that together.

“Keep looking, guys.” Lestrade instructed the policemen. He stood up, staring down Sherlock in an epic battle of wills. Or a less epic request. “Or you could help us properly and I’ll stand them down.”

“This is childish.” Sherlock argued. He started to pace, so was his fury.

“Well, I’m dealing with a child.” Danielle coughed, covering up a whisper of how sick a burn that was. John heard it, covering up his smile again. “Sherlock, this is our case. I’m letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?”

“Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?” Sherlock countered with a glare.

“It stops being pretend if they find anything.” Lestrade pointed out.

“I am clean!” Sherlock defended him.

“Is your flat? All of it?” Anderson called out from the kitchen.

Sherlock thinned his lips, pointedly ignoring the man. “I don’t even smoke.” He pulled back his sleeve, showing off the nicotine patch. He must’ve thrown out the other two, Danielle reasoned.

“Neither do I.” Lestrade showed off his own arm, complete with nicotine patch.

Sherlock put his sleeve back to normal with an indignant huff.

“So let’s work together. We’ve found Rachel.” Lestrade informed.

“Who is she?” Sherlock asked.

“Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.” Lestrade answered.

Danielle wanted to drop her jaw. Her guess was...right? What the  _ fuck? _ She was _ never _ right!

“Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?” Sherlock whispered to himself.

“Never mind that. We found the case.” Anderson walked away from the kitchen. He pointed at the pink suitcase. “According to  _ someone _ , the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath.”

“I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.” Sherlock bit back so fast it was like he had rehearsed it, for when this argument ever came up.

_ ‘Except why would he tell you the killer had it, if he was the killer?’ _ Danielle asked herself. She had the feeling her question wouldn’t be appreciated so she shut her mouth.

“You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her.” Sherlock instructed Lestrade.

“She’s dead.”

“Excellent!” Danielle blinked in surprise. “How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be.”

“Well, I doubt it, since she’s been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive.” Lestrade explained. Danielle’s heart sank as she guessed what had gone wrong. “Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.”

Danielle almost let out a sad sigh.

“No, that’s...that’s not right. How...Why would she do that? Why?” Sherlock asked, confused.

Danielle could pick up on the confusion. To miss your dead daughter so much, you etched her name on the floor.

“Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?” Anderson asked, mocking Sherlock. “Yup-sociopath; I’m seeing it now.”

“She didn’t  _ think _ about her daughter. She  _ scratched _ her name on the floor with her fingernails.” Sherlock stressed. Danielle thought about it. Sherlock had a point. “She was dying. It took effort. It would have  _ hurt.” _ Sherlock started pacing again.

“You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it.” John reasoned. “Well, maybe he...I don’t know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.”

“Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?”

Danielle hummed in emotional pain. She lowered her chin to her chest, shaking her head as locks of redish hair fell to block her face.

“Not good?” Sherlock asked.

“Bit not good, yeah.” John answered.

“Never say it again or we’ll kill you in your sleep.” Danielle corrected plainly. Yes she said that outloud. Make fun of her for it, and she’ll kill you in your sleep.

Sherlock waved her off. “Yeah, but if you were dying...if you’d been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?”

“‘Please, God, let me live’.” John answered in a soft voice.

“Oh, use your imagination!” Sherlock huffed.

“I don’t have to.”

There was a small silence as the meaning of his words hit Danielle and Sherlock.

“Oh I was wrong. That was worse than the other thing.” Danielle whispered to herself. “Sherlock never say that thing either.”

“Well then what would you say!” Sherlock prompted her, anything to make her and John forget he was being a prat. 

Danielle bit her lip in thought. She wondered, wondered that if she had a daughter who died, and now she was dying and she’d wrote her name out in the floorboards. Why her daughter’s name? What about the name was so important in that moment that Danielle would write it to the people who would find her? The suitcase caught her eye and she thought she more.

“Her suitcase?” Danielle tried. Sherlock and John looked at her in confusion. “Maybe it has something to do with her-” She stopped herself, something else coming to mind. “Her phone. He has her phone.”

“Yes?” John answered.

“Well that would be stupid of her, yeah? To leave it in the car.” Danielle stated. “Except she wasn’t stupid. She had boyfriends, loads of them and an unhappy marriage. She couldn’t be stupid.”

“She was clever.” Sherlock pondered, trying to pick up that line of thought. Danielle brought up good points but they just weren’t _ enough _ . “ _ Really _ clever. She was trying to tell us something!”

Mrs Hudson walked in, interrupting. “Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.”

“I didn’t order a taxi. Go away.” Sherlock continued pacing as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Oh, dear. They’re making such a mess.” Mrs Hudson walked up to Danielle and John. What are they looking for?”

“Drugs.” Danielle answered simply.

“It’s a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson.” John added.

“But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.” Mrs Hudson defended.

“Shut up, everybody, shut up!” Sherlock raged loudly. Danielle jumped back. Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.”

“What? My _ face  _ is?!”

_ ‘Well it’s a pretty snake like face-” _

“Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.” Lestrade ordered.

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

“Your back, now, please!” Lestrade repeated.

“Come on, think. Quick!” Sherlock raised his fingers to his head to think.

“What about your taxi?” Mrs Hudson asked.

“Mrs Hudson!” He raged.

Danielle was ready to hit him. She stared at him in shock. How _ dare _ he snap at Mrs Hudson?

Mrs Hudson went back downstairs. Danielle almost-  _ almost-  _ followed. The idea of hitting Sherlock for being rude was too good an offer to pass up.

“Oh.” He beamed. “Ah! She was clever, clever, yes! She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead. Do you see, do you get it?” Sherlock beamed, as it all came together in his head. Danielle was shaking her head at him. “She didn’t lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him.”

“Yes! That’s what I was thinking!” Danielle cheered, mostly for herself. “Cause the killer had the phone, that’s why we chased that cabbie!” She walked over to the table, where an open laptop sat beside her leftovers. She pulled up a Find-My-Phone site.

“When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer.” Sherlock ranted to everyone else.

“But how?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock paused, as if astounded that Lestrade could still not have caught on. “Wha...? What do you mean,  _ how? _ Rachel! Don’t you see? Rachel!” He announced. Danielle looked over her shoulder to see everyone staring blankly at Sherlock. “Oh, look at you lot. You’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name.” He finished sternly.

“Then what is it? John snapped, just as (if not more) stern.

Sherlock “John, on the luggage, there’s a label. E-mail address.” Sherlock instructed. He turned to the table, only to see Danielle already sitting there.

“Typed in the password, waiting for the email.” She supplied. She glanced at John. “John?”

“Er, jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk.” John read off.

Danielle typed it in.

“Oh, I’ve been too slow. She didn’t have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it’s a smartphone, it’s email enabled.” Sherlock explained to the policemen. Though probably more for Lestrade so everyone would get out of his flat. “So there was a website for her account. The username is her email address, and all together now, the password is?”

John came over to the desk, looking over Danielle’s shoulder “Rachel.” He realized.

Danielle hit enter.

The site loaded. 

“So we can read her emails. So what?”

“Anderson, don’t talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street.” Danielle would have to remember that one, it was funny. “We can do much more than just read her emails. It’s a smartphone, it’s got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She’s leading us directly to the man who killed her.”

“Unless he got rid of it.” Lestrade pointed out.

“We know he didn’t.” John defended.

“Nobody died so it was okay.” Danielle excused. She didn’t look away from the laptop screen.

“Come on, come on. Quickly!” Sherlock stood behind Danielle. He smacked the books on the table impatiently.

“Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver-”

Sherlock marched to the door. Danielle was happy for it. “Mrs Hudson, isn’t it time for your evening soother?” Okay less happy if it was to scold Mrs Hudson. Then again she was bringing up that cab thing  _ a lot. _

Te page loaded. It told Danielle the phone would be located in a moment. She huffed. John with her.

“We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter. We’re gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won’t last forever.” Sherlock spoke behind her.

“We’ll just have a map reference, not a name.” Lestrade pointed out.

“It’s a start!” Sherlock countered.

Danielle beamed as the map appeared. “Sherlock!” She called to him.

“It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It’s the first proper lead that we’ve had.”

“Sherlock.” John tried.

“Sherlock...” Danielle called again.

The consulting detective had enough with both of them. He marched to Danielle’s free side to look at the screen. “What is it? Quickly, where?”

“It’s...huh.” Danielle hummed. “Here.”

“No, that says it’s 221 Baker Street.” John pointed at the screen.

“Nah, see I’ve done this before.” Danielle corrected. “If it meant in the flat, it would be at the flat. Spent an hour searching my flat only to find it in the bins outside- my cat pushed it out a window. This says it’s outside so it’s outside.”

“How can it be here? How?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere.” Lestrade remarked. Clearly not having heard Danielle, which the landlady thought was rude.

“What, and I didn’t notice it?  _ Me _ ? _ I _ didn’t notice?”

“Anyway, we texted him and he called back.” John reminded the Detective Inspector.

“We chased him for a bit but it turned out to be a cabbie.” Danielle added.

“You don’t need to add that part.” Sherlock hissed in a low voice.

Danielle shrugged. “Well _ sorry _ for trying to be  _ accurate _ .”

“Guys, we’re also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim, some of you go out in the alley outside and check-” Ah so he  _ had _ heard Danielle. Lovely. Danielle knew he was a good one.

“Sherlock, you okay?” John asked.

Danielle turned to the man. Yeah, Sherlock didn’t look his best. He had this vague look on his face. The Thousand Yard Stare, Danielle thought.

“What?” Sherlock asked. He turned to them, blinking his eyes back to focus. “Yeah, yeah, I-I’m fine.”

“So, how can the phone be here?” John asked.

Sherlock looked back to the door. “Dunno.”

“You  _ dunno _ ?” Danielle pointed out.

John stood up, reaching for his pockets. “I’ll try it again.” He pulled out his phone.

“Good idea.” Sherlock murmured, walking away. 

Danielle watched him go, confused.

John too. “Where are you going?”

Sherlock “Fresh air.” Sherlock answered.

“We just got a lot of fresh air runnin’!” Danielle reminded.

“Just popping outside for a moment.” Sherlock replied vaguely. He walked to the stairs, “Won’t be long.”

“You sure you’re alright?” John called out.

“I’m fine.” Sherlock called out as he vanished down the stairs.

“He’s not fine, right?” Danielle asked John.

John bit his lip, staring after Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! Sat down, hunkered down the hatches, and wrote this update. I’’m literally being powered by soda and chocolate.


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